
Class _/I/P<r^ 
Book. 






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COPXRIGOT DEPOSm 




SKETCH SHOWING ROUTE TRAVERSED 



A SUMMER AND WINTER 
ON HUDSON BAY 



BY 

C. K. LEITH AND A. T. LEITH 



MADISON, WISCONSIN 
19 12 



F/osi 



COPYRIGHT 1912 
By C. K. LEITH 



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©CI.A336763 



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CONTENTS 

Page 

Preface _______________ 13 

Part I. A summer on Hudson Bay, by C. K. Leith _ 17 

By canoe to Hudson Bay ________ 19 

Moose Factory ____________ 25 

Travel on James and Hudson Bays _____ 28 

Our guides _____________ 31 

The Hudson's Bay Company _______ 33 

Relations of Hudson's Bay Company to natives _ _ 37 

The Indians and the Huskies _______ 42 

Moral development of the natives ______ 46 

Conjuring _____________ 49 

The syllables ____________ 51 

The post managers __________ 52 

French competition __________ 56 

The Hudson's Bay Company and the government _ 59 

Lack of medical care __________ 59 

Game and hunting methods ________ 61 

The east shore ____________ 64 

Travel near Richmond Gulf — The Huskies _ _ _ 66 

Travel on Richmond Gulf ________ 77 

Gulf Hazard _______ 78 

Tenderfeet 79 

The start for home __________ 80 

The wreck of the sailboat ________ 81 

On foot to Great Whale river _______ 84 

Packing ______________ 85 

By kayak _____________ 92 

Delays at Whale River Post ________ 93 

A disastrous start ___________ 97 

Final departure from Whale River _____ 103 



10 Contents 

Page 

Moose Factory at last __.___-_. 107 

Up the river to the railway __...___ 108 

Return of lost notes .________. 112 

Return of abandoned equipment . . _ _ _ . 116 

Part II. A winter on Hudson Bay, by A. T. Leith _ 119 

Diary for November, 1909, Great Whale Post . _ 122 

Records of October, 1902, Great Whale Post . _ 131 
Record of the hunting season of 1876-77, Little 

Whale River Post .._..._.-- 136 

Harold Udgarden, philosopher _______ 145 

Challa, the cook __-__ .149 

John Meluktuk, dog driver ________ 151 

Bill, the unlucky __.__.____- 152 

Nero _____-__-----.- 159 

Notes made during our stay at Whale River _ _ _ 162 

Whale River to Moose Factory by dog team . _ 169 

Halt at Fort George __________ 179 

Fort George to East Main ___.___-181 

Stop at East Main Post _-.-_..-- 184 

East Main to Moose Factory _______ 186 

Moose Factory to Cochrane on snowshoes _ _ _ 191 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 
Sketch showing route traversed _ _ _ _ Frontispiece 

A river vista; birch-bark canoe under construction _ 18 

Falls of the Missinaibi ....__..__ 20 

A portage; a river-side camp for the night _ . _ _ 22'^ 
In the course of travel down the river eleven moose 

were seen; an obstacle to travel ___._. 24*^ 

Gorge of Missinaibi river at Conjurer's House _ _ 26 " 
Falls on the Missinaibi river; supplies for Hudson's 

Bay post, headwaters of Missinaibi _____ 26 

The streets of Moose --_.______ 28 

Old dining room, Moose Factory _______ 30' 

Old mess house, Moose Factory _______ 32 

View of Ruperts House _________ 34 

View of Ruperts House _________ 36 

Stephen at East Main __________ 38 

The cosiest interior on Hudson Bay — parsonage at 

Fort George _____________ 46 

Husky congregation. Great Whale _______ 48'' 

Eskimo, Great Whale .__._.____ 66*' 

Eskimos launching kayaks through the surf to save 

sailboat, east coast of Hudson Bay _____ 68 

Eskimo woman ____________ 72 

Entrance to Richmond Gulf; scene, Richmond Gulf _ 76 
Hudson's Bay post at Great Whale river, looking to- 
ward Hudson Bay __________ 92 

View up the river at Great Whale ______ 94 

Indian tepees. Fort George; old Fort George _ _ _ 104 

Eskimo woman, Great Whale ________ 124 

Eskimo woman ____________ 130 

Whale River Huskies _____...__ 136 ' 



12 Illustrations 

Page 

John Meluktuk; Husky dog --___-__ 150 

Fox drying house, Great Whale ___.__-152 

Nero; Bill __..____--_... 154 

Nero's wife, Great Whale ...._..._ 160 
Husky igloos, Great Whale; Bill's dog team and sled, 

Fort George ___-___-_-___ 164 

Preparing for a "snack" _________ 168 

William Snowboy, Cape Jones _______ 170 

Nepacktuk; Ackperuk __________172 

French post, Fort George; bake oven, Fort George _ 174 

Shaouk, wife, family and all possessions _ _ _ _ 176 

Arrival of furs, Fort George ________ 178 

Rat, a famous Fort George Indian; sled showing black 

earth runners ____________ 180 

Indian woman. Fort George ________ 182 



1/ 



PREFACE 



In a geological expedition to Hudson Bay in the 
summer of 1909, the writers saw and experienced so 
much that was new and strange and interesting, that 
it seems worth while to write a narrative of the ex- 
pedition, principally as a matter of record, but 
partly also in response to the kind interest expressed 
by friends in parts of the story which they have 
heard. It is a plain account of things and events, 
thrown together from miscellaneous notes, diaries 
and memories, with little claim to literary form or 
finish. 

The geological results of the trip have been pub- 
lished by C. K. Leith in Economic Geology for 1910. 



PART I 
A SUMMER ON HUDSON BAY 



PAET I. 

A SUMMER ON HUDSON BAY 

By C. K. Leith 

Summer as applied to Hudson Bay is a compli- 
mentary misnomer. At any rate, it was summer 
where we started our trip. 

James Bay, although it is but 225 miles from the 
railway, is one of the most isolated and least known 
areas in North America. The available small-scaled 
maps and reports of this north country fail to con- 
vey adequate notions of the conditions of travel to 
be met with in a journey to this region, or, to be 
more specific, they failed to develop in us a proper 
appreciation of what we were attempting, when in 
the spring of 1909 we started to study the geological 
formation on the east coast of the Bay. To bring 
this narrative within readable limits one might se- 
lect the unusual and accidental features, making 
the tale one of adventure, or special attention might 
be given to the physical conditions of the country, 
always interesting to the traveler, or to the history 
of the Hudson's Bay Company, operating today at 
its old stand, as it has operated for over two hun- 
dred years past. During the summer, when delayed 
by storms, I attempted to write up a detailed narra- 
tive from our daily log. This narrative suffered one 
of the vicissitudes of travel, and rested for a year in 
the waters of Hudson Bay. Not having the courage 

2 (17) 



18 Summer on Hudson Bay 

to reproduce it, the present narrative was written 
with less regard to details and the chronology of the 
trip, and with random emphasis on some of the im- 
pressions which come most vividly to mind. Since 
the larger part of the second narrative was written 
the first one miraculously appeared in a manner to 
be described, but too late to be effectively used with- 
out extensive rewriting. 

With a party of three assistants, F. S. Adams of 
Duluth, Minn., H. M. Roberts of Superior, Wis., 
and A. T. Leith of Washington, D. C, a start was 
made the first of July from Missinaibi, Ontario, on 
the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, 50 
miles north of Lake Superior. Our party proceeded 
by way of the Moose river, by canoe, to Moose Fac- 
tory, a Hudson's Bay post, near the mouth of the 
Moose river; thence with sailboats around the south 
and east coast of James Bay, around Cape Jones, 
and up the east side of Hudson Bay to Richmond 
Gulf, a treeless Eskimo (Husky) country — a dis- 
tance of about 1000 miles. For the return trip the 
party was divided. Mr. Roberts and myself re- 
turned in the fall by sailboat, canoe, kayak, and 
packing, following the coast down as far as Moose 
Factory, thence up the Moose, Abitibi, and Frederick 
House rivers to Cochrane, the junction of the Tem- 
iscaming and Northern Ontario railroad with the 
Grand Trunk Pacific Railway, the new transconti- 
nental line. The round trip required four and one- 
half months of almost continual travel, the party 
having made during that time 104 camps, with 18 
crews of natives, aggregating 46 individuals. A. T. 




A RIVER VISTA 




RIRCH-RARK CANOK L NDKR CON S I RL CTION 



By Canoe to Hudson Bay 19 

Leith and Adams remained at Whale river until 
Christmas, when they traveled over the same route 
by dog team and snow shoes. 

By Canoe to Hudson Bay 

Our canoe travel across the Canadian interior to 
Hudson Bay contained few features unfamiliar to 
any one who has paddled through our northern 
waterways. Supplies for the trip were carried from 
the starting point, Missinaibi, for no habitations are 
passed on the way, except Brunswick Post, only 40 
miles from the Canadian Pacific railroad. The route 
is a rough one, as are most canoe routes in the north- 
ern interior, with swift and numerous rapids and 
falls. Eising at 5 A. M. and taking a hearty break- 
fast, we packed the camp outfit and loaded it into 
the canoes, and the start was made, usually before 7 
in the morning. Then followed hours of monoto- 
nous paddling, broken only by the change in pro- 
gram necessary to meet the obstacles encoun- 
tered, such as rapids and falls. We stopped for din- 
ner at 12, repeated our labor until 5 or 6, then 
stopped again for supper and camped on the river 
bank, our party usually being sound asleep by half 
past eight, still broad daylight during that time of 
year. Vivid memories of the trip are the swarms 
of black flies and mosquitoes waiting to pounce 
upon us as soon as the canoe touched the shore, and 
sometimes attacking us even on the river; the monot- 
ony of the paddling, the frequent wading through 
shallows and rapids to avoid portages, and the occa- 
sional unavoidable portages, thirty-six in number on 



20 Summer on Hudson Bay 

this route, when canoes and outfits had to be labori- 
ously packed along trails, around rapids, ranging in 
length up to a mile and a half. Our first experience 
was the Height of Land portage, beyond which the 
waters flow north to Hudson Bay. We reached this 
portage at dusk the first day out. Yet the unpleas- 
ant features of the trip were more than counterbal- 
anced by others giving the keenest enjoyment; 
glorious vistas along the river, picturesque rapids 
and falls between rocky banks, rare sunrises and 
sunsets, the joy and exhilaration of running rapids, 
always with their element of danger, the feeling of 
supreme content and physical fitness which came, 
with a good pipe after a hot breakfast, during the 
first hour of paddling in the morning, and the short 
peaceful interval of quiet between the evening meal 
and bed. On a trip of this sort one soon forgets his 
prejudices in favor of certain kinds of food, or in 
favor of dry clothes or of dry soft beds, or of many 
other things that seem indispensable in our artificial 
habits of life. Important only is the amount of food 
and sleep. The quality of either becomes a matter of 
indifference. It takes only a few long portages to 
convince one that tinned milk, tinned butter, fruit, 
etc., are luxuries and not necessities. Pork and flour 
are ample. An Indian at Brunswick House tried to 
dispose of a fresh moose tongue, but the hot weather 
and flies had combined to render it anything but a 
delicacy and we declined to trade for it. 

The monotony of paddling 350 miles, even with 
the continually changing panorama along the river, 
becomes almost unendurable, were it not for the in- 
terruptions caused by the rapids and falls. For 



Rapids and Portages 21 

fifteen days after leaving Brunswick House we saw 
neither white man nor Indian. Even a portage 
sometimes is welcome as affording a change, if the 
portage is not too long, too rough, or does not come 
too soon after another one. Usually we preferred 
wading even waist deep in the rapids, and letting 
the water lift the load through, to avoid portage. 
There was a constant temptation to run rapids, 
thereby getting a free ride, saving time, and avoid- 
ing a heavy carry. I must confess that discretion 
sometimes came off second best in this conflict of 
influences, especially as the portages along this 
route, as also on the Abitibi route by which we re- 
turned in the fall, have a curious way of taking off 
in the middle of the rapids, and ending in rap- 
ids, making it difficult to see the portages and 
thus to distinguish dangerous rapids from others 
which it is customary to run. These routes have 
been traveled so long by the Hudson Bay voyageurs 
that every foot of unnecessary carry is avoided. 
When we reached the Bay we learned that the Mis- 
sinaibi route had been abandoned for some years and 
the Abitibi was the only one used. Naturally the 
trails were unusually bad, through neglect and 
windfalls. I need not describe the obvious delight 
and exhilaration of shooting successfully through 
savage fast waters, coming as near as possible to 
destruction in the shape of boulders, and bobbing 
out merrily at the foot of the rapids, in less time 
than the canoe could have been unloaded for a port- 
age. To me one of the most notable sensations of 
shooting the rapids is that of quiet and stillness 
which sometimes comes when the canoe is going fast- 



22 Summer on Hudson Bay 

est, because the canoe keeps pace with the racing 
water. It is only when a boulder, emerging from 
the water, seems to be rushing into one's face, or 
when one gets a glimpse of the fleeting shore, that 
the speed is appreciated. 

In view of the fact that for this part of the trip we 
had no guide with us, we were fortunate in coming 
through with only two ''spills;" neither especially 
dangerous, but sufficiently exciting to give a little 
zest to our experiences and show us what to look out 
for. On one of these occasions, one of our canoes, 
which had been loaded more heavily than usual, was 
swamped in the big waves at the foot of the rapids, 
and required the combined efforts of four men hang- 
ing on to the canoe for support, to drag themselves 
and outfit safely to shore. Another time the loads 
were carried over the portage and an attempt made 
to run the light canoes through the rapids. The first 
canoe was taken through successfully. The second, 
going apparently over the same course, struck a rock 
almost at the start, threw its crew into the river, and 
promised a disastrous ending. Fortunately a reef 
some 500 feet below served to stop both crew and 
boat, a happy reunion was effected, and the voyage 
continued. The first of these experiences meant the 
spoiling of much food, and the second the ruining 
of the shutter of a camera, which we had much 
cause to regret before we got through our trip. 

About a week out we passed the projected line of 
the new Grand Trunk Pacific railway, where there 
was an unoccupied log cache for surveyors' supplies. 
On a paddle stuck in the bank was a notification that 
certain camp equipment to be found on a portage 




A PORTAGE 




A HIVEH-SIOK CAMP FOR THE NKiKT 



A Depressing Incident 23 

some twelve miles down the river was that of two 
Grand Trunk employees who had been drowned in 
the rapids a few days before and that passersby find- 
ing the bodies would please notify Grand Trunk offi- 
cials at North Bay. Evening brought us to this port- 
age. Smoke seen for some distance was a source of 
much curiosity. On our arrival it proved to be from a 
small forest fire spread from the drowned surveyors' 
camp fire of some days before. The camp, evidently 
left only for the day with all its equipment scattered 
about, had been burned. Camping that night along 
side of the noisy rapids, with the forest fire fitfully 
lighting up the forest and the abandoned camp, and 
a heavy wind moaning through the trees, we were 
much oppressed by the sad fate of our predecessors, 
probably then lying somewhere in the rapids close 
at hand, their end still unknown to relatives. The 
next morning all confessed to a restless night and to 
** hearing things" in the forest and rapids, one of 
our number insisting that he lay awake most of the 
night listening to some one playing old tunes on an 
accordion. It was with some relief, perhaps selfish, 
that the rapids were passed without discovering the 
bodies. This episode put a damper on our spirits 
for some days and was the cause of additional care 
in running succeeding rapids.* 

Not the least interesting incident on our river 
travel was the occasional sight of moose lazily feed- 
ing in the river to avoid flies, and stupidly watching 
the close approach of the canoe — unless the wind 

* The body of one of the men, named Wordsworth, was recovered 
later. He had been over from England about five years and was 
said to be a lineal descendant of the poet. 



24 Summer on Hudson Bay 

allowed them to scent the approach, when they were 
off with mighty crashing tjirough the brush. Eleven 
moose were seen on the down trip, but all after our 
one camera had been rendered useless by wetting. 
We had one fire-arm, an automatic high-power re- 
volver, which would have stopped them at the close 
range we sometimes reached, but no effort was made 
to kill them, for in this warm weather it would have 
meant the waste of nearly the entire carcass, even if 
much could have been carried with us. Also the law 
forbids. The order in which reasons are stated 
illustrates the average regard for game laws under 
such surroundings. 

On Missinaibi lake we met two large birch bark 
freight canoes racing south to procure supplies for 
Brunswick House. Each canoe was manned by a 
crew of ten Indians and at every stroke the canoe 
fairly leapt forward. The short quick typical Hud- 
son Bay stroke is the only one used in the north. 
The blade of the paddle hardly touches the water, 
but the stroke is more powerful than it appears, and 
long distances are covered in remarkably short time. 

The first part of the journey, down the Missinaibi 
and Moose, from the Height of Land, is over pre- 
Cambrian rocks known technically as the Laurentian 
peneplain or base level, with surface rough in detail 
but with maximum difference of elevation of not 
more than 200 or 300 feet. Just before the waters of 
the Missinaibi join the Moose they plunge down off 
this plain through a series of picturesque gorges into 
a low-lying area forming the coastal plain of Hudson 
Bay, occupied by younger rocks. Here is the Con- 
jurer's House, made famous by Stewart Edward 



Arrival at Moose Factory 25 

White's novel of that name, a great monolith of 
granite standing in the middle of boiling rapids, and 
rendered inaccessible by them, and since time imme- 
morial regarded by the Indians as an object of 
superstitious veneration. From here down through 
the coastal plain to James Bay the rapids become 
less frequent and violent, the river expands, locally 
to a width of several miles, and becomes generally 
shallow. It races along smoothly at a rate of five or 
six miles an hour over shallows which can usually be 
waded and often scrape the canoe. 

Moose Factory 

After sixteen consecutive days of canoeing, we 
came suddenly in view of the French post near 
Moose Factory, located on an island in Moose river 
12 miles from its mouth. We landed there, thinking 
it to be the post of the Hudson's Bay Company. Mr. 
Halley, the factor, greeting us, stated that his last 
visitors some years ago were two insurance men of 
New York who came to escape investigation. They 
spent the summer with him. We assured him that 
we were not friends of the gentlemen, and were not 
trying to escape from anything but civilization 
itself. 

A mile away on Moose island is the administra- 
tive headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company for 
the bay, which we reached an hour later. It was 
established in 1675, and is operated today in much 
the same fashion as for the past 240 years. Some of 
the present buildings and parts of buildings run 
back to the period of our American revolution. We 
here first experienced the charming and unique at- 



26 Summer on Hudson Bay 

mosphere of the Hudson's Bay posts; a charm which 
we also felt at each of the succeeding posts, although 
perhaps in a less degree. The small cultivated 
fields, substantial houses, with high hewn picket 
fences, church, rectory, school house, stores, ware- 
houses, carpenter shop, saw mill, the great flagstaff 
guarded by cannon, the general air of permanence 
and respectability, all contrast vividly with the con- 
ditions in the wilds about. On landing, we were 
greeted by Mr. Mc Alpine, the manager of the post, 
and the foreman, Mr. McLeod, who, as is the custom 
with whites at all posts, appeared neatly dressed, 
even to spotless collars and straw hats. 

We were quartered in the old mess building, one 
of the oldest buildings at the post, substantially 
built of hewn lumber, with fireplaces in every room, 
every part of it redolent with associations of the 
strenuous past of the Hudson's Bay Company. In 
the hall were crossed sabers and guns, formerly an 
essential part of the equipment of the post. Many 
old pieces of hand-made furniture were of shape and 
finish which would do credit to any home. We were 
especially interested in the old dining-room, with its 
fireplace, long table, massive chairs, sideboard, 
china and silver plate carrjdng the Hudson's Bay 
arms, and with a large oil painting of Sir George 
Simpson, a famous old governor of the company, in 
a conspicuous place on its wall. It required but little 
imagination to people this delightful room with 
some of the well-known characters of the Hudson's 
Bay service, entertaining royally as was their wont, 
when travelers and visiting post managers came in 
from the interior. On a cold winter's night, what 




FALLS ON THE MISSINAIBI HIVKR 




SUPPLIES FOH HUDSON S HAV POST, HEADWATKHS OF THE MISSINAllU 



The Streets of Moose 27 

cheer there has been in this room, with curtains 
drawn, fire lighted, an excellent dinner being served 
by the large corps of trained European servants, 
some old dignitary like Sir George Simpson presid- 
ing from the big chair at the head of the table. 

Space forbids any detailed description of Moose. 
At every turn one sees features of interest. The 
place includes some 30 or 40 buildings, laid out 
in irregular streets, with a fringe of Indian tepees 
in the adjacent fields, with a permanent population 
of about 100 and a floating or hunting population 
of several hundred. It is a fully organized com- 
munity with a post manager at the head of its 
temporal affairs, and a bishop, when in residence, 
at other times his assistant, in charge of its 
spiritual affairs. Here, as at other posts, it is 
not easy to define the jurisdiction of the two leaders. 
In general they live together in peace. Two services 
are held Sundays which are well attended, and dur- 
ing the summer, when many Indians are at the post, 
there are daily services. Sunday services are con- 
ducted in English, and repeated in Indian. Most of 
the half-breeds at the post attend the English serv- 
ice, thus classing themselves with the whites; this 
being entirely optional. This fact will clear up any 
wonder one might have in looking over the congre- 
gation attending the so-called white service. The 
first sermon we heard contained many references to 
the dangers to the young to be met with on the 
"streets of Moose," bringing us to a realization of 
the fact that we were in an organized community 
which regarded itself as a village or town. We sub- 
sequently found that at other posts on the Bay the 



28 Summer on Hudson Bay 

''streets of Moose" were regarded as a combination 
of Broadway and the Bowery. 

English is spoken by both whites and natives with 
a pleasing intonation, and particularly a rising in- 
flection at each pause. One notes a curious combi- 
nation of Scotch, English, and Indian characteristics 
in the language. This is one of the many small dis- 
tinguishing variants which lend such interest to 
Hudson's Bay life and force upon the visitor the 
strangeness of it all. 

Travel on James and Hudson Bays 

In planning for the trip, and in fact after arriving 
at Moose Factory, we thought the worst of our trip 
was over, but we were to find that river travel, even 
as strenuous as the kind we had encountered, was 
mild relaxation as compared with travel on James 
and Hudson Bays. After two days at Moose Factory, 
a start was made along the coast of James Bay, 
traveling from post to post with such boats and 
guides as were available. 
\l Ruperts House, the next post visited, on the south- 

; 1 east corner of the bay, is of special interest. This is 

nearly on the site of old Fort Charles, the first of the 
Hudson's Bay Company posts established in 1670. 
It was here also that Henrik Hudson was supposed 
to have wintered when he first reached the bay in 
1610. It is one of the most important posts on the 
bay, being the distributing point for a chain of five 
posts in the interior, including Namaskow, Misstas- 
sini, and Nitchicun. "We were the second party of 
visitors in several years at Ruperts, while Nitchicun, 



Our Boats 29 

500 miles distant in the interior, has not seen a white 
man since 1870. 

Imagine our surprise to find cows at Moose and 
Ruperts House, and later at East Main and Fort 
George, furnishing plenty of good milk and butter 
for these posts. At Ruperts House there is also a 
creamery. Hay for the cows is gathered from the 
swampy areas near the mouths of the rivers by the 
Indian servants and each post has its large hay-boat 
used primarily for this purpose. 

Visiting successively Ruperts House, East Main, 
Fort George, and Whale River, our destination north 
of Richmond Gulf, 600 miles up the eastern coast, 
was reached in thirty days after we left Moose Fac- 
tory. From Moose Factory to Ruperts House, our 
conveyance was a large hay-boat of bateau type, 
carrying a large area of sail; from Ruperts House to 
Fort George there was utilized a life boat of the 
Hudson's Bay sailing ship. Stork, sailing annually 
from London to Hudson Bay and return, in which 
some twenty-odd sailors had been saved from the 
wreck of the Stork during the preceding fall. Both 
of these boats, while safe and seaworthy, had little 
in the way of speed or appearance to commend them. 
From Fort George north, we were somewhat better 
equipped with a 30-foot center-board yacht carrying 
three sails. 

It soon appeared that there were other factors in 
the situation besides our desire to travel. It was 
necessary to wait for favorable winds, for the right 
tides, sometimes for the caprice of the guide. There 
were two, three, or four days at a time when 
we found it necessary to stay on land, curbing our 



30 Summer on Hudson Bay 

impatience as best we could, waiting for a favorable 
conjunction of these factors. It is a custom of the 
country to sit down and wait patiently for fair winds 
or tide, regardless of time. At first we thought that 
by using a little extra energy we might be able to 
beat the combination, but it was soon apparent that 
the Hudson Bay custom was based on wise experi- 
ence. By resting under unfavorable conditions it 
was possible to make the most of favorable condi- 
tions of travel. It was not unusual to embark at 3 
'clock in the morning, to travel all day, taking our 
meals on boat, and sometimes traveling late into the 
night. One trip was started at three in the morning, 
continued all day, by moonlight all night, and until 
3 o'clock the following afternoon. The long periods 
of enforced inactivity in the boat, accompanied with 
cold winds and fogs off the Bay, and the annoying 
delays on the shore, waiting for fair winds and 
tides, required the exercise of all the philosophy 
at one's command. There was no use worrying or 
fussing; there was nothing to be done, and in time 
one was forced into a cheerful frame of mind 
(or an imitation of it) which helped carry off the 
monotony of the trip. Under such conditions mat- 
ters of food and clothing become topics of vital im- 
portance in conversation. One could see the spirits 
of the party subsiding between meals, and rising 
like the telegraph wire to the next pole, as the next 
meal approached. Much time was killed by long 
and serious discussions of what to have for supper, 
or the relative merits of preceding meals, or what 
combination of flannel shirts and blankets might do 
most to ward off the cold, damp wind. A much 



Clothing 31 

larger quantity of food seemed to be required on the 
sailboat, where we were inactive, than on the river, 
where we were forced to much physical exercise, 
probably because the cold winds on the Bay necessi- 
tated fuel to keep up the body heat. The matter of 
clothing became a serious problem. Starting from 
the railway line with light summer underwear, we 
exchanged it for heavy underwear at Moose, and at 
each succeeding stopping place layers were added, 
until at the northern end of our trip, Eichmond 
Gulf, we topped the whole by a covering of sealskin 
coats or shirts, obtained from Huskies. As one of 
the coldest blooded of the party, I counted nine lay- 
ers of clothing at the most northern extremity of the 
trip. At night extra clothing was put on rather than 
taken off. Suggestion of a bath would set our teeth 
chattering. On rare occasion something was ac- 
complished in this direction by bathing in pools on 
the rocks and changing the order of our shirts, put- 
ing the inside one out. 

Our Guides 

Most of the 46 guides with us from time to time 
on our trip could speak a little English, but a few 
could not. Roberts then acted as our interpreter 
with the aid of a vocabulary of about twenty words 
picked up at the posts and phonetically written in 
his notebook. With the notebook in one hand he 
approached the guide with up-raised finger, read 
off the desired Indian name, syllable by syllable, 
with a "got that, John?" and still holding up his 
hand to keep the attention of the Indian he 
hunted for the next word, and so on until the 



32 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Indian began to show some signs of comprehension 
or amusement. The method was crude but effective. 
As Roberts slapped the notebook into his hip pocket, 
he would remark with satisfaction that he thought 
with a little time he could master the language. 

Guides are few in number at the various posts. 
Most of the natives tributary to a given post have 
never been to any other. As they say, they have 
never "voyaged." This is not strange, when it is 
considered that the posts are from 100 to 200 miles 
apart and the trip by the ordinary means of trans- 
portation is a hazardous one and requires favorable 
weather and considerable time. The guides are 
usually servants of the factor, not hunters, and each 
year visit the nearest posts carrying the annual or 
semi-annual "packet." 

One guide, "Jimmy," cheered us at every camp- 
ing place from East Main to Fort George, by hunting 
up pieces of wreckage and showing them to us. He 
was very successful in this, once bringing to camp a 
mast and sail, and our progress seemed to be in a 
very graveyard of boats and vessels. Later we con- 
tributed our share, and to that extent Jimmy's work 
will be easier in the future. 

From Fort George to Great Whale, we had on 
board an Indian guide who brought along his wife 
and five children, the oldest about ten, and succe- 
sively younger down to a nursing child. This child 
was about two and a half years of age, walked and 
played with the other children, yet insisted on being 
nursed several times a day although it ate also what- 
ever its brothers and sisters did. The squaw while 
in the boat disposed of the flock like an old hen with 



Life at Hudson's Bay Post 33 

chickens. They occupied very little space, and most 
of the time their presence would not even have been 
suspected. 

The Hudson's Bay Company 

The Hudson's Bay posts visited were strikingly 
similar in architecture and atmosphere to Moose 
Factory. Indeed, this similarity extends through- 
out fourteen posts which it has been my privilege to 
visit this and other summers. The comfortable 
house of the manager, with its well-kept yard, hewn 
picket fence, huge gate, usually a garden plot for 
potatoes and other hardy vegetables, and buildings 
and pens for cows and chickens, form the central 
feature of most of the posts. Near it is the store, 
containing everything necessary for the needs of the 
country, from pork and flour to sewing machines 
and phonographs. The large warehouses are con- 
spicuous features. At a central point, a high flag- 
staff is to be seen on which the Hudson's Bay flag is 
displayed on the approach or departure of visi- 
tors. Life is ordered in much the same way at all 
the posts. Staff and employes rise at 5:30 A. M. and 
drink a cup of tea, work from 6:00 to 8:00, break- 
fast 8:00 to 9:00, work from 9:00 to 1:00, dine 1:00 
to 2 :00, and work from 2 :00 to 6 :00. A bell mounted 
on some central building announces each of these 
hours. Two additional formalities, tea at 11:00 and 
4:00, are observed by some of the post managers. 
The complete control of the post manager over the 
affairs of his subordinates and dependent Indians, 
together with the regularity of the day's proceed- 
ings marked by the bell, give an air of a certain 



34 Summer on Hudson Bay 

military precision to the place quite at variance 
with the straggling architecture and the appearance 
of some of the inhabitants. 

The Hudson Bay region has been under the al- 
most exclusive control of the Hudson's Bay Com- 
pany for two hundred and forty years. A few brief 
attempts at (competition have hitherto met ,with 
failure, but for the past few years Eevillon Freres, 
of Paris, have been making a strong attempt to 
gain a foothold and have accomplished more than 
any of their predecessors. The Hudson's Bay Com- 
pany has from the first devoted its attention exclu- 
sively to the fur trade, and has discouraged all ef- 
forts on the part of its own employes or others to 
develop other resources. So far have they gone in 
this direction as to discourage even minor changes 
in the manner of conducting their business, such as 
introducing more satisfactory means of travel and 
communication, which in their judgment would 
tend to take attention away from their principal 
business of securing fur. While the employes of 
the Company have done much geographical explo- 
ration of a good grade, this has been often in spite 
of, rather than because of, the attitude of the Com- 
pany. Even such knowledge as they have secured 
has been turned over to the public very tardily or 
not at all. The large blank areas on existing maps 
of the region about Hudson Bay are eloquent testi- 
mony of the attitude of the Company in this regard. 
There is today, outside of the Hudson's Bay posts 
and the posts of their competitors, Revillon Freres, 
so far as the writer knows, not one habitation of wood 
or stone. Probably nowhere else in the world could 



m 


\ [ f 




■ 1 




Conservatism of the Hudson's Bay Company 35 

there be cited a similar case of arrested develop- 
ment of a great region under control of white people. 
This is not written in a spirit of criticism. The 
Company was organized to trade in fur, and the 
characteristic British conservatism has kept it 
strictly to its text. The stock is in strong financial 
hands in England, largely in the nobility, whence 
a conservative attitude would be expected. The 
Company doubtless foresees that as soon as the 
region opens up for anything else which will bring 
in a population not giving its attention to trapping, 
its primary business of buying furs will rapidly 
disappear. 

Perusal of the daily journals kept at each of the 
Hudson's Bay Company's posts brings vividly to 
mind the permanence of the institution. Wishing 
to know the probable condition of the weather for 
some of our trips, we were able to ascertain exactly 
what had happened in the way of weather, hunt- 
ing, and other incidents the same date the year 
before, two years before, fifty years or even one 
hundred years before, and so far as the nature 
of the record is concerned and the character of the 
events noted there is little evidence of change 
of conditions. These statements concerning lack of 
progress by the Company would perhaps be ques- 
tioned by people living on the Bay. One hears 
many stories from them of change of conditions 
from the good old days when furs of a certain kind 
were more abundant, or when the Indians were 
more easily controlled, or news packets less fre- 
quent, but to an outsider these differences seem so 



36 Summer on Hudson Bay 

slight and the present conditions are so redolent 
of the past that the changes in the Hudson's Bay 
Company's method and condition seem almost neg- 
ligible. 

The Hudson's Bay Company controls fifteen posts 
on Hudson Bay, located usually near the mouth of 
some river. Each post has its post manager, fore- 
man, servants (natives and mixed breeds) from one 
or two to twenty, depending on the importance of 
the post, and its quota of natives dependent upon 
the post. It is only during the summer, when furs 
are not in prime, that most of the people are to be 
seen about a post. Then the Indians and their fam- 
ilies come in with their furs of the preceding winter, 
trade for their supplies, and have a period of social 
relaxation before returning to their camp grounds 
in the wilderness. Then the neighborhood presents 
lively scenes, the buildings and yards being sur- 
rounded by a fringe of tents of the visiting Indians. 
At this time church services are held by mission- 
aries two or three times daily, and there is a con- 
siderable amount of visiting, dancing, and feasting. 
Then comes the annual feast given to the Indians by 
the Company, consisting of tea and cake, cake being 
the Hudson Bay name for a baking powder biscuit 
with dried currants in it. During the winter the 
Indians are scattered about the country in small 
groups within a radius of 150 miles or more from 
the post, and at the post there are only the people 
immediately concerned in its operation, together 
usually with a considerable number of natives in- 
capacitated for trapping by age or infirmity. The 



The Indian's "Debt" 37 

total population dependent upon each of the posts 
ranges from fifty to eight hundred or nine hundred 
people. 

Relations of Hudson's Bay Company to Natives 

The unit of trade is the "beaver," an arbitrary 
value represented by a brass token issued by the 
Hudson's Bay Company, nominally worth a dollar, 
that is, a dollar in trade. In cash a beaver is worth 
fifty cents. When, therefore, a native is paid a 
beaver, and takes it out in trade, as he must, he 
really gets something in the neighborhood of forty 
cents in value. When we take into account the low 
scale of prices for furs arbitrarily fixed by the Com- 
pany, it appears that the dependents of the Com- 
pany have little opportunity to ' ' get rich quick. ' ' 

Each Indian has a debt to the Company. When 
he buys his supplies for the year's hunting he is 
said to "get his debt." The size of the debt the 
Company will allow him depends somewhat upon 
his ability as a hunter. At the end of the year he 
turns in his furs in liquidation of his debt. Often 
he does not succeed in getting a surplus. The re- 
sult is that the Company has a debt on the books 
for most of the Indians over whom it has control. 
On death or prolonged sickness the debt is wiped 
oif. Under these circumstances it is apparent that 
strict business methods cannot apply. The post 
manager must use his judgment as to the size of 
the debts to be allowed to different Indians, in or- 
der to get the maximum results. The principle is 
to get all the furs possible, and to allow the men 
such debts as will in individual cases bring the best 






38 Summer on Hudson Bay 

results. ' With two companies now in the field, 
there has been a marked tendency for the Indian to 
''get his debt" at one company and turn in his furs 
to the other. The church, however, has been active 
in preaching against this particular form of dishon- 
esty and seems to be checking it. 

None of the natives are independent. Attached 
to each of the posts are natives said to be well-to-do. 
These possess few evidences of worldly wealth be- 
yond suitable clothes, substantial food, and good 
rifles and guns, but they have such credit with the 
Hudson's Bay Company as will enable them to buy 
certain articles they may need to help them live 
comfortably. This simply means that they have 
been sufficiently successful as hunters and have 
turned in enough furs to establish a certain pres- 
tige with the Company, and the Company treats 
them well as a reward for faithful services and as 
an incentive to others. The advances made to the 
Eskimo are small and only to the best hunters. The 
average Husky, as the Eskimo is called, must be 
content with whatever his furs bring. Advances to 
them have not proved profitable to the Company. 

To the stranger on the Bay, at first thought, the 
native's lot does not seem an enviable one. The 
Indian is in a condition not far removed from 
slavery. With his best efforts he can secure for 
himself only food and clothes. He cannot secure 
independence. On the other hand, he is certain of 
a living if he is reasonably diligent in trapping; he 
will be taken care of in case of incapacitation; his 
family will not be allowed to starve, and above all, 
he is in a reasonably contented and happy frame of 



Message to Garcia 39 

mind over the situation. He is better off than in 
the days of uncertain supplies, before the Hudson's 
Bay Company came, and he seemed to us better off 
and happier than most of our laboring people. 
While he undergoes hardships, he seldom endures 
the extremes of poverty, never feels that he is suf- 
fering injustice, greater than that of his fellows; he 
is on a substantial social equality with the rest of 
the population, and altogether is a decent, self- 
respecting, eflScient, and contented being. 

The attitude of the Company toward the Indian 
is a curious combination of stern, relentless control 
with a sort of furtive kindliness. When an Indian 
is asked to do certain arduous work or make a dan- 
gerous trip, he has been taught to obey unquestion- 
ingly and to accomplish his mission at any cost of 
life or limb. He carries his message to Garcia with- 
out the prospect of being greeted as a hero on his 
return. If he fails to carry out his orders abso- 
lutely he will get no sympathy from either the Com- 
pany or his friends. While traveling from post to 
post we had occasion to use a number of Indians 
who were picked out by the post manager to accom- 
pany us, sometimes on a trip which meant exposure 
and hardship for weeks; and while these Indians 
often disliked leaving a comfortable post and fami- 
lies to go off with strangers in whom they had no 
interest, there was never a murmur when once they 
had been selected to go. In coming out in the fall 
from Moose Factory to the railroad track, so late 
in October that there seemed every prospect of be- 
ing frozen in before we could reach civilization, the 
three Indians sent with us were ordered by the post 



40 Summer on Hudson Bay 

manager to see us through at any cost. We had 
everything to gain by getting out and much to lose 
by being frozen in. They had nothing to gain in 
making the trip. One could not but admire the 
grim, even fierce, persistence with which they drove 
their way through most discouraging conditions. 

About the posts the Indians are, for the most 
part, treated rather gruffly. Some post managers 
spend their time mostly at the house rather than at 
the store. The Indian wishing to trade hangs 
around the kitchen door until he learns through the 
servants that the manager may be seen, then timidly 
knocks and comes in, hat in hand. The manager, 
after a time, looks up from his business or paper, 
or interrupts any conversation he may be carrying 
on and asks what is wanted, and if the Indian's 
credit is good gives him an order on the store for 
such things as he needs. The length of time the 
Indian is kept waiting and the graciousness of the 
post manager's behavior toward him are an excel- 
lent barometer of the Indian's standing with the 
Company and in the community. Let an Indian 
come in who has not been diligent in his trapping, 
and has allowed himself to get considerably in debt, 
and it is almost painful to see how servilely he has 
to approach the manager. 

With all this external show of authority and 
harsh control, there is much quiet kindliness and 
generosity toward the Indians which does not al- 
ways come to the surface. While the Indian is away 
on duty for the Company his family is taken care of. 
If there is sickness, some attention is given the un- 
fortunate one and extra supplies are granted. As 



Loyalty to the Hudson's Bay Company 41 

a reward for faithful service the Indian is al- 
lowed to purchase an unusually good rifle or other 
desired equipment, even if beyond his credit. 

By this combination of sternness and kindliness 
the Company has been able to foster a loyalty 
among its servants and natives which is very un- 
usual in a commercial concern. Loyalty to the 
Company is a watchword more effective than 
money. Natives take pride in telling of the number 
of years they and their ancestors have been in the 
Company's service. This same loyalty is true of the 
post managers. When an employe leaves the Com- 
pany's service to join the competing company he is 
branded as a renegade. In the recent competition 
with the Eevillon Freres the few Hudson's Bay 
Company men who have gone over to the new com- 
pany, have felt keenly the force of public opinion 
about the Hudson's Bay Company's posts. This 
public opinion has, of course, been fostered and 
encouraged by the Hudson's Bay Company to help 
in fighting the competition of the French company. 
Miss Laut's lively history of the Hudson's Bay 
Company summarizes the salient features of the 
Company's attitude toward its wards in the fol- 
lowing paragraph: 

"In the charter lay the secret of all the petty 
pomp — little kings in tinsel — with which the Com- 
pany's underling officers ruled their domain for two 
hundred years. In the charter lay the secret of all 
the Company's success and all its failure, of its 
most paternal care of the Indians and of its out- 
rageous, unblushing banditti warfare against 
rivals; of its one-sidedness in driving a bargain — 



42 Summer on Hudson Bay 

the true caste idea that the many are created for 
exploitation by the few — of its almost royal gener- 
osity when a dependent fell by the way — the old 
monarchical idea that a king is responsible for the 
well-being of his subjects, when other great com- 
mercial monopolists cast their useless dependents 
off like old clothes, or let them rot in poverty. ' ' 

Eskimos are found as far south as Charlton 
Island and Fort George, and Indians as far north as 
Eichmond Gulf, though the dividing line may be 
considered at Cape Jones. There are few Indians 
north nor Eskimos south of that point. The Indians 
are Crees. 

The Indians and the Huskies. 

The natives, both Indians and Huskies, show 
many shades of color, which fact may be correlated 
with the prevalence of Scotch and English names 
and characteristics. There is a strong family pride, 
much observance of form, and the language even 
shows Scotch modification, especially in inflection. 
A universal habit on the Bay is to shake hands in 
meeting and parting. Wherever we stopped we 
found it necessary to shake hands with all members 
of the party, men, women, and children. Neglect 
of this duty was likely to be resented. In some 
cases, where fifty or more people were met simul- 
taneously, the ceremony became a formidable one. 
The natives work hard and lack what most of us 
would call the comforts and conveniences of life, 
but they and their ancestors have known no other 
way of living, and therefore do not miss the things 
we regard as desirable, if not essential. There is 



Family Life of Natives 43 

little social competition, for all are substantially on 
the same level. Their lives are not complicated by 
a multiplicity of interests and distractions, but are 
concentrated on the hunt which furnishes the where- 
withal to live, and incidentally affords most of their 
pleasure. Their family life seems to the outsider 
remarkably happy, notwithstanding a common 
method of choosing mates which is often intensely 
practical and lacking in sentimental consideration. 
Mr. Nicolson, post manager for Ruperts House, 
told of an Indian from one of the interior posts 
coming to him just before our arrival, and after 
buying his supplies over the counter, added that 
he would like a wife. The post manager did not 
have one in stock, but not to be stumped, had a can- 
vass made of the post, found a suitable woman, and 
before night had the pair wedded and started for 
their camp five hundred miles inland. That mar- 
riages so made could result satisfactorily is aston- 
ishing at first thought. I suspect the explanation 
lies largely in the unity of material interests in the 
family and the lack of outside distractions. From 
the start the entire energies of the family are de- 
voted to making a living by hunting under stren- 
uous conditions. The man kills the game and the 
woman skins it and prepares the fur and food from 
it. There is scarcely a day in which close co-opera- 
tion is not necessary. In times of stress and ad- 
versity they must look only to themselves for help. 
The result is a close welding of interests and devel- 
opment of team work which enable them to cope 
with their many difficulties and which seem to 
make a contented, if not ideal family. To active 



44 Summer on Hudson Bay 

women, adapted to complex social enviromnents, 
this life would be quite unendurable, but in the 
absence of possibilities of other interests, in fact 
without knowledge of them, this simple and stren- 
uous life accomplishes wonderful results. Time and 
again in our travels, as we spent a few hours in 
some lonely Indian camp, we felt the good cheer 
and inspiration of a happy and well regulated 
family life. The solicitous, detailed, and unremit- 
ting care of each of the members of the family for 
the others could not but reach the sensibilities of 
the onlooker. 

Coming from a part of the continent where the 
Indian has not inspired great respect, it took a little 
time to realize that we were with intelligent and 
self-respecting people who had solved the problem 
of living under the local conditions better than we 
had yet done, and to learn to follow their judg- 
ment rather than direct them. We came to trust 
them implicitly in all matters relating to travel, 
even where at first we could not see reason for 
some of their decisions, and to admire their sim- 
plicity, directness, and efficiency in solving their 
difficult problems. The diversity of methods used 
by the natives in meeting a given situation was 
often bewildering. Scarcely had we come to know 
the methods of one group of Indians and feel some 
confidence in ourselves, than we had to begin over 
again with a new crew. The differences were es- 
pecially marked between posts, so little is the in- 
tercourse between them. Their separation is 
greater in some respects than between countries 
separated by oceans on which travel is common. 



Good Humor as an Asset 45 

The result is a certain provincialism and dogma- 
tism about methods at the posts conspicuous to a 
traveler visiting them in rapid succession. 

On the other hand, as soon as the natives pass 
the boundary of their field of experience they are as 
children. They have not the mental training which 
enables them to reason successfully from known to 
unknown conditions. An Indian can scarcely be 
improved upon as a guide over ground he knows, 
but is inferior to the skilled white man in new and 
unknown fields. 

Perhaps the most striking of the natives' charac- 
teristics is their prevailing good humor. Their 
chatter, jokes, and laughter, sometimes under dis- 
tressing circumstances, often served as an antidote 
to our own tendencies to growl over adverse condi- 
tions. Their method was so much more effective 
as a practical proposition than ours that we tried 
conscientiously to adopt it, thereby adding much to 
our pleasure and peace of mind. Especially is this 
characteristic marked in the Husky, who gets en- 
joyment out of the most trivial incidents. The In- 
dian has a certain reserve which hides this good 
humor for a time, but with few exceptions he is 
found on acquaintance to be the same interesting, 
good-natured individual. The northern Indians feel 
superior to the Eskimos because they have driven 
them north, and because their neighbors are dirty 
and eat many things they consider unfit to eat. On 
the other hand the Eskimo looks upon the Indian 
with contempt because he hugs the coast with his 
canoe, not daring to go out as he fearlessly does in 
his kayak, and because the Indian can not kill a 



46 Summer on Hudson Bay 

seal with a spear; also he is dependent on the white 
man for supplies and goes to the post often for them, 
while the Eskimo loves his independence and has 
the ability to live away from civilization, many com- 
ing to a post only at intervals of four or five years. 
Many Eskimo women and children never visit a 
post. 

Moral Development of the Natives 

Simplicity and honesty are remarkable in deal- 
ing with the natives. Especially is this true of the 
Husky, whose contagious frankness contrasts some- 
what with the reserved and sometimes more com- 
plicated mental processes of the Indian. While it 
is perhaps not well to generalize as to the causes of 
this condition, one cannot but attribute it, at least in 
part, to the example of the post managers, who ac- 
cording to local standards have been square in their 
dealings with their dependents. Equally important, 
however, is the influence of the missionaries, espe- 
cially in recent years and at certain posts. The na- 
tives delight in attending church services as often 
as possible. Most of them take vociferous part in 
responses and hymns. Morning and evening prayers 
are commonly observed in their tents, not only when 
at the posts, but when in the wilderness, and special 
gatherings of little groups for prayers and hymns 
are common. Our guides intoned prayers when ris- 
ing and retiring, and often would gather in a tent 
of an evening for some special service in which all 
took part. We liked to listen for and enjoy the 
faint drone of the prayers in the adjacent tent as 
we awakened or went to sleep. These things seemed 



If ^^^^^B-'* ' '!>' -jBtaiHr [ ^y " " ' ■ pl^^B^W ' 


*>^- ijjBBB^^^m 






.'f ' ■ , ^ '- 






the cosiest interior on hudson bay parsonage at fort george. 

from left to right: rev. mr. walton, mr. aldridge, manager of 
revillon freres, mrs. walton, and mr. (iriffith, manager of 
Hudson's bay company. 



Religious Influences 47 

at first incongruous in their surroundings. Later 
we came to regard them as a natural part of our 
environment. This strict observance of religious 
form is undoubtedly, for many of the natives, 
merely an expression of their desire for ceremony, 
form, and social intercourse. Yet it is equally cer- 
tain that with it has come real improvement in 
moral and ethical stability. Especially note- 
worthy has been the influence of Rev. and Mrs. Wal- 
ton of Fort George, who have lived on the Bay for 
many years, speak and write both Cree and Husky, 
and have translated some literature into these 
languages. Knowing every individual Indian and 
Husky dependent on Fort George and Whale River 
posts, and much of their family history, and having 
gained their confidence and respect. Rev. Walton 
exercises a benevolent despotism over them which 
extends beyond spiritual affairs. Anything he says 
"goes," even to leaving home and making an unde- 
sirable trip with strangers. One of our best guides, 
Bill, was thus secured at a time when ordinary 
suasion was having little effect. 

There come to mind several incidents illustrating 
the influence of the church. In the native camps, 
many miles from posts, we commonly heard well- 
known hymns sung in the native language. These 
seem quite to have taken the place of folk songs. A 
little Husky child in furs looks at you with serious 
round eyes while he lustily sings "Onward, Christian 
Soldiers. " One of our Husky guides was wont to con- 
sole himself on days when we were hung up by ad- 
verse winds by standing on some high rock with his 
hands behind him, singing his repertoire of hymns. 



48 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Once in Eichmond Gulf, as we were about to start on 
a rough sea in a craft made by tying three kayaks 
side by side, this same Husky gave us pause by 
going back on the rocky shore and kneeling and 
praying before joining us. This did not reassure us 
as to the safety of the trip. Our guide, Bill, always 
gave a special gospel reading and singing when we 
struck a new camp of Huskies. During the summer 
a Husky appeared at Whale Eiver from Fort Chimo, 
500 miles across Labrador, merely to say his 
prayers with Eev. Walton. At Whale Eiver post 
one Sunday morning, when the rest of the party had 
gone hunting with the post manager, Eoberts and 
I attended a service in the chapel conducted by 
Nero, famous as probably the best Husky guide and 
hunter on the north coast. We were the only whites 
in the room. Nero had donned a black cutaway 
coat but retained his sealskin boots and red hand- 
kerchief around his neck. Moreover, his coat collar 
was turned up. He met us at the door, ushered us 
to front seats and presented us hymnals (Husky) 
with the grace of a courtier. The service was 
earnestly read and responded to. We could not 
take part, though Nero repeated his hymn an- 
nouncements in broken English and waited until 
we had located the place in the Husky hymnal, 
which of course we could not read. After reading, 
in Husky, the lesson about Peter denying the Lord, 
Nero with true courtesy attempted to tell us the 
story in English. His English, always picturesque, 
under this unusual excitement and embarrassment, 
became almost an unintelligible jumble, but he 
struggled on manfully with perspiration streaming 



Fear of Conjuring 49 

from his face, until he could go no further, when he 
stopped with "Me English can no more say him." 
It was difficult to restrain a smile, but Nero had 
done his best, and where could one find courtesy of 
finer quality? 

Conjuring 

Occasional evidences of a lingering faith in con- 
juring and spirits of dead animals come to mind. On 
our first arrival at Moose Factory we were taken into 
an adjacent field to see an insane Indian brought in 
some months before from the west coast of the Bay 
and awaiting disposition by the Indian authorities 
at Ottawa. He was a strapping, happy looking fel- 
low, clad gorgeously in strips of colored rags and 
blankets, and was chained by the leg to a huge 
anchor. He danced clumsily about, chanting a 
Catholic mass, singing ribald songs, and making 
eloquent speeches to bystanders. For shelter he 
had dug a hole with his hands. He appeared 
oblivious of cold and mosquitoes. The Hudson's 
Bay officers had tried to keep him in houses and 
tents, but he insisted on burning or otherwise de- 
stroying all shelter by means of matches and tools 
secretly furnished him by the Indians, in spite of 
the most vigilant efforts of the guards. As a result, 
he had escaped twice, much to the fright of all, and 
was regarded as a menace to the safety of the 
camp. The Indians feared his power to conjure 
them more than they feared the results of his free- 
dom, and therefore complied with his demands for 
axes, matches, tobacco, or anything else he desired. 
After hearing these stories and noting the man's 



50 Summer on Hudson Bay 

dangerous strength and the obvious fear of him per- 
vading the post, we were startled when early the 
following morning we were awakened by the shrill 
chant of the madman, mingled with the sharp cries 
of command from the Hudson's Bay men, coming 
down the street toward our sleeping quarters. He 
had again broken his great chain with the aid of 
tools furnished by the Indians. Before we could 
get out he was overpowered by a group led by the 
post manager. This time he jdelded without a 
struggle, and good-naturedly aided in carrying the 
600 pound anchor to a new spot in the field. The 
post manager remarked that if he did not get the 
Indian away soon his entire post would be demor- 
alized and his Indians would leave, so great was 
their fear of conjuring. I do not admit that this 
episode hurried us away, but cheerfully confess to 
a feeling of relief when the boat took us out of the 
madman's possible reach. 

Another instance of superstition was brought to 
our attention by Rev. Woodall, the missionary at 
Ruperts. A few days before our arrival, an Indian 
at a church prayer meeting voluntarily confessed 
to having been a conjurer, and promised next time 
he came to the post to bring in his ''conjuring 
drum" for the missionary to destroy. 

When an Indian kills an animal, he is likely to 
talk to it, explaining the necessity of his action in 
order to propitiate its spirit. Not uncommonly a 
plug of tobacco may be put in the jaws of a bear 
for the same purpose, and his skull is sometimes 
decorated and hung in a conspicuous place. 



The Native Writing 51 

While this superstitious spirit is seldom noticed 
by the traveler, according to the missionaries it 
nearly always lurks beneath the surface in greater 
or less development, but is gradually decreasing as 
the church influence increases. 

The Syllabics 

On the portages of the Missinaibi we first saw 
signs on the trees and Cree letters on wood written 
in syllabics. They appeared to us combination of 
Hebrew and shorthand writing. These syllabics 

r^Aj^o-b/'-^^'x drL-A-A<»- bc -A onr<'c'x r<A- 
(.^cj-A"- \>^ -A xbo-Ao, t>c<i'>r'' jv«- rrr,rd«-« 
ri^a*. <o^«' bi'b'' I or ALn/s*ic •<i<>(L-AQ.'>. 

Lb o- -^o-An-Ao-Q-a, <i AJ* •<i<>CL»<3rk 
<Jat <icrK-AVrJ^ <3'b-AV Lb AXA6.<»- <JC I 
b-bPAb-AH^; Lb TC-bo-L-AiuO^ LP l-bo-A. <H'*« 

o c<>rl«:ra, .<i<nAQ.<>- <3 p«o-<ini^ra, 

rr^d«- Lb r aLpa^J'Ao^ 
> c<>rL^% aLp ppoplox 

pnLp)-A6.«- Lb <3 QLiXLC*^ 

•AH^CAi' pf<is.r<]OpLL'' •bVNACn/'Ao-r'x 
f'PVA'' Lb P^AAi^^L** b •<3-<i<L'<«« 

were devised by an early missionary and are in gen- 
eral use throughout the Hudson Bay country, 
through the efforts of the missionaries, who teach 
the Indians and Eskimos at the posts for a few 
weeks each summer. A portion of the Gospels, the 



52 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Episcopal prayer book and Peep o' Day are the 
only books so far in circulation. Another is soon 
to be added by Eev. "Walton. The natives prize 
these books highly and take good care of them. 

The young people write their love letters in syl- 
labics and have their private post-offices in trees 
and other hiding places. 

There are several Indian dialects on the Bay. 
The difference, for instance, between Moose Fac- 
tory and East Main is very marked. A native at 
once knows from which section a stranger comes 
by his accent and dialect. 

The Post Managers 

The post managers warrant a bookfull of charac- 
ter sketches. Usually of English or Scotch descent, 
they are selected when young men, and sent out to 
the Bay by the annual boat. For the first eight 
years they are not entitled to a furlough, and should 
they leave, forfeit some portion of their pay. After 
eight years service they are in a position to ask for 
a furlough, but as the rules of the Bay Company 
permit only one man in a district to be absent on 
furlough in any one year the difficulty of getting 
away is so great that furloughs are few and short. 
It is not unusual to meet men who have not been 
out of the Bay in twenty-five years. One man, 
Mr. Jobson, the present manager of the East 
Main post, has not been away since his arrival there 
as a young man fifty years ago. The remuneration 
is small, usually $400 or $500, in exceptional cases 
$1,000 per annum, but their houses, supplies, and 
servants are paid for by the company, so there is 



The Post Managers 53 

little need for spending their salaries. The single 
men live comfortably on these amounts, but the 
married men, who have to educate their children 
away from home and have other family expenses, 
find it difficult to make ends meet. The position is 
not, therefore, financially attractive, but to make 
up for this deficiency the post manager is sur- 
rounded by all the comforts that local conditions 
will allow, is absolute despot over his little domain, 
and is entirely free to do as he pleases within his 
sphere. If he wishes to go hunting for a day, or a 
week, there is nothing to stop him. If he wishes to 
sleep all forenoon, he may. His bookkeeping may 
be done next week as well as this, even next month, 
so long as it is finished before the annual report is 
due. The life exerts a great fascination over the 
men in it. There are remarkably few instances of 
employes leaving the Company's service, while 
those in the service express fondness for it and dis- 
taste for taking up anything else. One of the post 
managers who had not been away for twenty-five 
years told of his keen enjoyment on reaching his 
former home and of his even keener joy in getting 
away after only a few days and starting for the 
wilderness again. Another told of spending two 
days in civilization and of having such a strong de- 
sire to get back to the wilds that he curtailed his 
visit, which he had intended making a month long. 
Most of the post managers are delightful company. 
I have yet to meet one of the peculiar types of Hud- 
son's Bay Company manager with the gruff exter- 
ior and kindly heart so characteristic of novels 
concerning the north country. They are rather. 



54 Summer on Hudson Bay 

genial, gracious Britons, fond of a chat over a cigar 
or sometimes a bottle. Just now a few of the post 
managers on the Bay are comparatively young men 
with spruce, business-like manner, such as one 
meets in ordinary business. 

Another remarkable characteristic of the post 
managers is the manner in which, British fashion, 
they have carried into their wild surroundings the 
customs of home. Nowhere does one see evidence 
of inclining toward the habits of the natives. In 
methods of dress they are punctilious. The white 
collar of the post manager, perhaps the only one at 
the post, is a common mark of distinction. On Sun- 
day it is his custom to put on his best clothes, white 
collar and cravat, frequently a white vest, and dur- 
ing the summer a straw hat, with gloves and cane, 
in spite of the fact that the only people about are 
natives before whom one might think it permissible 
to appear in pajamas with equal propriety. The 
hours and character of the meals, the attendance 
on religious service, the tendency to use English 
with natives wherever possible, are all evidences of 
the Britisher's ability to conserve his character- 
istics under all surroundings. To this peculiarly 
British trait is doubtless due in large degree the 
remarkable influence which has been exerted by the 
little handful of Englishmen and Scotchmen over 
the customs of the native population of the Bay. 
One finds the natives everywhere imitating, as far 
as their means will allow, the manner of dressing 
and other peculiarities of the post manager. One 
meets natives attired in English clothes in almost 
unexpected surroundings. So far as they learn 



The Scotch Burr 55 

English, and most of the natives, especially the 
house servants, who are closely associated with the 
posts, do learn a little, it is likely to be touched with 
the Scotch burr or the English drawl. When we 
reached our first camp of Huskies on our north- 
ward journey, I inquired for ''Bill," who had been 
recommended as a guide for that part of the trip. 
The Huskies at the camp were dressed in most het- 
erogeneous clothes, ranging from furs to European 
apparel. I confess it was something of a shock 
when Bill, a trim, well-set-up man, neatly dressed in 
English clothes, even to cap and tie, approached, 
smoking a briar pipe, and addressed us in colloquial 
English with a very decided Scotch burr. It seemed 
that Bill had worked for a Scotch post manager and 
had imitated him as closely as possible. I did not 
meet that manager but I venture the opinion that 
he lost none of his British characteristics from asso- 
ciation with Bill. 

Travel in the Hudson Bay country without the 
assistance of the Company organizations is almost 
impossible. We wish to acknowledge the courteous 
treatment received and assistance given us by the 
officers at every post. 

Mr. Nicolson of Euperts House is one of the old 
residents of the Bay, having lived there for thirty-, 
odd years. Some time ago he took his furlough and 
embarked on the annual boat for England. A few 
days later back he came in the lifeboat with all 
the passengers and crew, and has not since ventured 
on another vacation. For years he was accountant 
at Moose Factory and now has charge of the most 
important post on the Bay. We spent a week with 



56 Summer on Hudson Bay 

him and were particularly pleased with the care he 
took of his Indians. He fathers them and sees that 
they are cleanly, well dressed, and well fed. If they 
are sick he is their doctor, and a regular clinic is 
carried on by him every day during the summer. 
Mr. Jobson of Bast Main, an Orkney man, is the 
Nestor of the service. For nearly fifty years he has 
been in the north, and for most of this time at the 
posts farthest from civilization. In the early days 
the Company officials were largely recruited from 
the Orkneys, but now these are in the minority. The 
activity he displays is astonishing for an old man. 
His anecdotes are interesting and when listening to 
him one appreciates that changes have really oc- 
curred even in the far north. For instance, tea is 
now a necessity to the Indians, yet when he entered 
the service hardly a pound was sold to them. He 
raises some hardy vegetables each year and was 
very generous with them. His potatoes are worthy 
of a prize, not on account of their size but because of 
the adverse conditions under which they are grown. 
The few short years that are left to him will be 
spent on the Bay, as he says he has been so many 
years away from civilization that he is too much 
Indian now to care to leave. 

French Competition 

I have referred to the competition started a few 
years ago by the Revillon Freres of Paris. Revillon 
Freres are reputed to be the largest finished-fur 
manufacturers in the world, and have stations for 
the collection of raw furs in many parts of the 
globe, including Asia and northern Europe as well 



Revillon Freres 57 

as North America. The entrance of this firm into 
competition with the Hudson's Bay Company, there- 
fore, probably begins what is perhaps the most 
serious competition which the Hudson's Bay Com- 
pany has ever had. Since 1877, when the Hudson's 
Bay Company ceded to the Canadian government 
all its governmental rights in northern Canada, the 
Company has had no official monopoly of the fur 
trade and has owned only a few acres immediately 
about its posts, maintaining its monopoly largely by 
the inertia of the business. Having been in control 
of the fur business for so many years, having devel- 
oped a spirit of loyalty among the natives, having 
an extensive plant in a part of the country so inac- 
cessible and so unfavorable to competition, it has 
been in a most impregnable position. The small 
trader going into Hudson Bay would find it ex- 
tremely difficult to carry in supplies which would 
last him for any considerable time. He would, 
therefore, soon be dependent upon the Hudson's Bay 
posts. The French company, in starting out, estab- 
lished posts alongside most of the Hudson's Bay 
Company's posts, usually only a few hundred yards 
away, sometimes a mile or more distant. They 
offered higher wages and prices for furs than the 
Hudson's Bay Company were paying and made spe- 
cial concessions to exceptionally good natives whom 
they hoped they might influence. At first the 
French company was able to secure only the mal- 
contents in the Hudson's Bay Company's service, 
and these as a whole were not a desirable class. 
The spirit of loyalty prevented any serious defec- 
tion of the natives from the Hudson's Bay Com- 



58 Summer on Hudson Bay 

pany, even thougli the prices offered were twice as 
much as they were used to. They distrusted the 
permanence of the new company, a distrust which, 
of course, was encouraged by the Hudson's Bay 
officers. Revillon Freres have, however, quietly and 
persistently developed their posts, have put capable 
men in charge, including a number of French army 
officers, have given every evidence that they are 
there to stay, and are making serious inroads into 
the native support of the Hudson's Bay Company. 
As yet their -project has been a very expensive one, 
but the amount of fur which they are getting is in- 
creasing year by year and it seems not unlikely that 
they will prove themselves formidable rivals of the 
Hudson's Bay Company. The Hudson's Bay Com- 
pany has hitherto felt strong enough to meet this 
competition without general raising of prices. The 
competition of the two companies has considerably 
improved the Indian's lot, as he feels that if not 
treated properly by one company he will be wel- 
comed by the other. From the standpoint of the fur 
companies the Indian is being demoralized, in that 
he cannot be controlled absolutely as he was in the 
past. It is to the interest of both companies to stop 
this demoralization, and there is evidence that the 
companies are uniting in an effort to ''keep the 
Indian in his place. ' ' 

The Hudson's Bay factors and those of the "Op- 
position" were on friendly terms at all the posts 
visited; that is, socially speaking, but in business 
matters there is keen rivalry and it is amusing to an 
outsider to watch the various maneuvers to obtain 
some advantage. Occasionally the first company to 



People Without a Country 59 

deal with the hunter gets the fur. Possibly the 
hunter has promised to deliver his spoils to the other 
company. In that case the delivery may be made in 
furs caught out of season, or of little value. There 
are many quiet smiles over tricks of this kind, and 
honors are usually divided at the end of the season. 

The Hudson's Bay Company and the Government 

The Canadian and provincial governments make 
no attempt to exercise close control over the Hud- 
son's Bay Company's territory. They supply no 
mounted police, no court administration, nor ma- 
chinery for tax collection. So great are the diffi- 
culties in the way of bringing petty criminal cases 
to the attention of the proper provincial and Domin- 
ion authorities that many of them are passed over 
or treated summarily by the Hudson's Bay men. 
An Indian Commissioner makes annual trips to look 
after the general welfare of the "treaty Indians." 
The missionaries have tried to have the govern- 
ment deal with the Eskimos as well, but to no pur- 
pose. The Eskimos, therefore, are verily a people 
without a country. 

Lack of Medical Care 

One of the most astonishing features of the con- 
trol of the Hudson's Bay Company is the failure to 
provide adequate medical attendance at the posts. 
There is no physician or surgeon practicing on Hud- 
son Bay. One or two men, filling other positions 
at the posts, have had some medical training and 
do what they can to alleviate suffering. At most of 
the posts the gravest cases are treated by the post 



60 Summer on Hudson Bay 

managers or assistants with the aid of a small stock 
of patent medicines and possibly a family medical 
book, one published in 1787 on the practice of medi- 
cine being the standard work at Great Whale. The 
result is much suffering which might be avoided, 
and mortality among the natives which is greater 
than it should be. Within recent years, for instance, 
an epidemic of measles swept the posts on the east 
side of the Bay, taking over one hundred lives in a 
few weeks. Throughout the epidemic there was no 
expert medical attendance available. During the 
last year an epidemic of la grippe and pneumonia 
caused thirty deaths at one post. 

Tuberculosis is prevalent but is practically ig- 
nored. Patients live in crowded tents with friends 
and relatives and are encouraged by local custom 
to work up to the limit of their capacity. The only 
recognition of the existence of the malady is the 
remark that ' ' So-and-So has a sore chest and cannot 
do as much work as he used to." Again and again 
we would find members of our crew in well ad- 
vanced stages of the disease, working without mur- 
mur to the best of their ability. They literally die 
in harness. 

In rare cases of severe illness or injury, where the 
patient's condition would allow the long journey, 
whites have been sent out to civilization for treat- 
ment. This is so difficult and expensive an under- 
taking that it is only in extreme cases that it is 
resorted to. For the Indian, such relief is practi- 
cally an impossibility. This situation has bred an 
indifference to physical suffering and death, and a 



Skilful Hunting 61 

certain attitude of fatalism which is appalling to 
the visitor. We did not dare think of the possibility 
of severe accident or illness to ns, for we realized the 
hopelessness of the situation, and felt the indiffer- 
ence with which our trouble probably would be re- 
garded by people so inured to suffering. The one 
cheerful element in the situation is the fact that 
the country and habits of life tend strongly toward 
developing and preserving good health when 
reasonable care is taken. 

Game and Hunting Methods 

Practically no time was given to hunting, except 
during our enforced stop at Whale River. We car- 
ried no rifle or shotgun because of the extra weight, 
but our Indian or Eskimo guides were invariably 
armed. No native will move out of camp without a 
rifle or shotgun. Muzzle-loading guns of old pat- 
tern are largely in use and are sold by the Hudson's 
Bay Company. The natives prefer them under con- 
ditions where it is difficult to procure the shells 
necessary for the breech loaders. Horns of powder 
and shot and a box of caps for the muzzle loader 
are more easily obtained and carried. Moss and 
grass serve for wadding. 

As spectators we were much interested in watch- 
ing the natives at their hunting, which is less sport 
than business, and a business of grim necessity at 
that. Trained to hunt from the cradle up, their live- 
lihood and social standing in the community de- 
pendent upon it, they develop the skill of the pro- 
fessional, in striking contrast to our own amateur 



62 Summer on Hudson Bay 

methods. They must get the quarry. They are 
keen in locating game, skillful and tireless in ap- 
proach, clever in the use of decoy sounds, and when 
the time comes to shoot, they shoot straight. Seldom 
is the gun out of hand, and seldom is the hunter 
taken by surprise. While the attention of our guides 
was given primarily to strenuous travel, their readi- 
ness, quickness, and marksmanship brought in a 
supply of game which would have been far beyond 
the powers of the average amateur hunter. Perhaps 
most interesting of the natives' hunting methods 
is their use of decoy sounds of wide variety to at- 
tract all kinds of feathered and fur game. The 
approach of any kind of game from a hawk to a 
seal is a signal for a call almost automatic in its 
response. Let a loon approach a camp, and in a sec- 
ond, men, women and children drop work and 
vociferously imitate the quavering loon cry — often 
with surprisingly successful results. Before long 
we had caught the habit. 

For about half of the trip we had a fishing rod 
with us which was rarely used. It was traded for 
a fur coat at one of the Hudson's Bay Company's 
posts. We did use, however, a gill net which sup- 
plied the necessities of the camp, when it was not 
convenient to secure fish from the Indians or Es- 
kimos. Sea-run salmon, salmon trout, and white 
fish were most abundant. Two streams visited (Seal 
creek and Salmon river) contain large salmon dur- 
ing the spawning period. Several streams contain- 
ing brook trout were found north of Cape Jones. In 
the rivers south of James Bay fish are not numer- 
ous. There are some pike and pickerel, but we 



Arrival of Moose on James Bay 63 

found it difficult to secure enough for our immediate 
needs. At the Hudson's Bay posts it is the custom 
to keep nets continuously in the water, and to visit 
them only when fish are wanted for the table. Fish 
cooked directly after coming from the cold water 
are delicious. In fact, fish constituted the most 
easily secured and satisfactory substitute for the 
ever present salt pork. 

A few moose have appeared on the south side of 
James Bay, and only recently there, having been 
forced into a new and probably last northward mi- 
gration by the building of the Grand Trunk Pacific 
railway. Illustrating the remarkable conservatism 
of the Hudson's Bay Company is the disgust with 
which the advent of the moose has been received, as 
detracting from the Indian's attention to his princi- 
pal business, fur getting. Needless to say this is not 
the Indians' attitude. We saw moose only on the 
rivers south of the Bay. Caribou are found in the 
interior but seldom on the coast. Foxes are abun- 
dant on the coast. We saw several, and shot one. 
On one occasion a fox was approached by our canoe 
and actually decoyed out of the brush to meet us 
by the clever imitation of the squeak of a field mouse 
by one of our Indians. In packing along the south 
side of James Bay a fox was again successfully ap- 
proached, decoyed by a mouse squeak, and shot by 
one of our packers. It is simply a matter of know- 
ing how — not a simple matter. Smaller fur animals 
are more numerous back from the coast. 

Seal and porpoises are often seen in Hudson Bay 
itself, and less commonly in James Bay. 



64 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Ptarmigan, known locally as "partridges," were 
abundant on the northerly end of our route. 
From Whale river south we feasted on geese 
and ducks, following their migration to a warmer 
clime. Geese and ducks gather in the great tide 
swamps bordering the wide tidal flats of the south 
side of James Bay, pending their flight south. Here 
we saw on our homeward trip more geese than we 
had before dreamed of. Air and land swarmed 
with them. The entire population of the Bay, 
whites and natives, parson and accountant, make it 
their principal business to hunt geese at this season. 
I hope sportsmen will not be incredulous when I tell 
of bags of over a hundred geese per day, shot from 
blinds or decoys. They are salted and barreled for 
the winter. Most numerous and highly prized are 
the grey goose, called locally the "wavey." One 
probably hears more about "wavey" shooting than 
any other form of hunting on the Bay. A diet of 
goose contrasted well with our summer's diet of 
pork. 

The East Shore 

About half way up the east coast of Hudson Bay 
vegetation becomes scant. From here northward 
there are only a few stunted spruces, noticeably 
along the shore, and mosses largely take the place 
of grass. Eichmond Gulf is practically the north- 
ern limit of trees. As drawn on the Canadian maps, 
the timber line extends from the Eichmond Gulf 
area northeastward to the heart of Ungava. North- 
ward, the coast also becomes gradually more rough 
and abrupt and north from Cape Jones the cliffs 



East Shore Described 65 

reach considerable size, in the Richmond Gulf conn- 
try rising nearly one thousand feet sheer out of the 
water. This barren coast is picturesque and 
has a certain attractiveness and charm notwith- 
standing its lack of trees. The white, pink, gray 
and green mosses, studded with stunted spruces, the 
sharp dark outlines of bare hills, the blue waters of 
the Bay, produce a picture which on bright days is 
surpassingly beautiful. The same landscape on a 
rainy, foggy day with the cold wind blowing off 
Hudson Bay becomes one of the most desolate sights 
imaginable. Richmond Gulf is a large triangular 
body of salt water discharging into Hudson Bay 
through a narrow opening a few hundred yards 
wide and two miles long. This is perhaps the most 
picturesque spot on the east coast. It is studded 
with islands, as is also the east coast of Hudson Bay 
proper. The rocks lie in regular, various colored 
beds dipping gently seaward, cut by erosion into 
regular castellated forms, which give the landscape a 
touch of linear regularity like that in the Grand 
Canyon of Colorado, thus adding much to its charm 
and strongly contrasting it with the scenery of the 
coast to the south, where the rocks are not bedded, 
and furnish no regular lineaments to the landscape. 
The purpose of our travel was primarily to examine 
these bedded rocks of the Richmond Gulf area and 
the adjacent islands, and we were greatly pleased to 
find that in addition to many interesting geological 
features they were scenically so attractive. 

The great rock sections here exposed portray so 
vividly interesting geological history that even the 



66 Summer on Hudson Bay 

non-technical observer could scarcely fail to under- 
stand their story. Along an old sea beach in pre- 
Cambrian times there were developed deposits 
almost identical with those to be seen forming today. 
The normal conditions were suddenly interrupted 
by great volcanic extrusions over the shore area, 
with corresponding violent changes in sedimenta- 
tion off shore, incidentally affording the conditions 
necessary for the deposition of an iron-bearing for- 
mation which in time may give the district commer- 
cial importance. Seldom has it been my privilege 
to study an area in which it was possible to make 
out a series of geological events, even to climatic 
changes, without long-range inferences possible only 
with a knowledge of the technique of geology. 

Travel Near Richmond Gulf — The Huskies 

All the way up the east coast of the Bay we had 
been buffeted by winds with little cessation, and in 
consequence had suffered many discouraging de- 
lays. On reaching Richmond Gulf we felt that now, 
no matter which way the winds blew, we could reach 
some point where geological work could be done 
and therefore lose no more time. Hudson Bay then 
showed us that it had still more stunts in its 
repertoire. The winds died down, for four days 
the Bay was as smooth and placid as a sheet of 
glass, and we were unable to use the sailboat ex- 
cept to drift with the tide. The distances between 
the islands and between the islands and the main- 
land were such that we were afraid to travel freely 
with canoe, knowing, as we did, the treacherous 
character of the Bay. The result was another heart- 




ESKIMO, CHEAT WHALE 



Huskies and Kayaks 67 

rending delay to which we found it hard to be recon- 
ciled. Our only compensation was the basking in 
the first warm sunshine we had seen for weeks, the 
thorough drying out of clothes, and the enjoyment 
of the nearest approach to summer afforded by that 
country. When the calm was finally broken, it was 
done so thoroughly that we were further delayed 
by a howling northwest gale. 

Notwithstanding these unfavorable conditions, 
with the guidance and help of the native Husky 
population, we were able to make progress with our 
work. 

While sailing along the coast one day, five kayaks 
suddenly appeared and in an incredibly short time 
caught up with our boat, even though we were go- 
ing at a considerable speed. The frail craft are able 
to breast a wave which a canoe cannot weather and 
at a speed which a canoe does not approach. One 
man with his double paddle and kayak on an aver- 
age is able to propel his boat faster than two men 
in a canoe, as we found by experience. The five 
kayaks on reaching the boat huddled picturesquely 
alongside, while we crowded the rail studying these 
men with the greatest interest. Each Husky came 
forward in his kayak and shook hands with all 
along the rail, dropped back, and his place was 
taken by another. The maneuvering of these five 
kayaks in the waves alongside of the sailboat was 
done with much skill and little apparent effort. 
Huddled into little space and moving ahead at great 
speed, at no time was there interference of paddles 
or boats among these men as they shifted their rela- 
tive positions to come forward to the boat. 



68 Summer on Hudson Bay 

This same group later rendered us effective serv- 
ice. Our boat was anchored one night at the be- 
ginning of a storm, in an apparently safe place, but 
on awakening the following morning we found it 
plunging in waves which threatened momentarily to 
snap the anchor chain and swamp the boat. As we 
were then one hundred and fifty miles from sup- 
plies, it became imperative to do all possible to save 
the boat, and here we found the first of many in- 
stances of the efficiency and good will of the Hus- 
kies. Their camp, some half a mile away, sent over 
almost its entire population to watch and aid. Early 
in the morning before the storm had yet reached 
its height, our Husky guide ''Bill" with four of the 
local Huskies was able to reach the sailboat from 
the shore with the canoe. Two Huskies were landed 
on the sailboat to keep it bailed out and to securely 
tie the rigging. On returning, the canoe with Bill 
and his companion was swamped on an adjacent 
island. Then the storm became so vigorous that no 
further expedition could be sent out from shore. 
We sat on the shore with a group of Huskies watch- 
ing developments, — two Huskies huddled in the 
sailboat keeping it bailed out and crouched behind 
the gunwales trying to avoid the icy blasts and cold 
spray, two others on an island two hundred and fifty 
yards away, huddled over a fire trying to dry out 
their clothes, wet in the capsizing of the canoe. The 
men on the boat had no fire and those on the island 
no food. Late in the afternoon it became apparent 
that something must be done to rescue the men 
from both places. Signs made by Bill on the island 
sent three of the Huskies on shore off on a dog trot 



^ > 



O 50 

1i O 

o "^ 
en 



H 

n 

> CO 

S) 

O 




The Boat Saved by Huskies 69 

to the village, whence they quickly returned carry- 
ing two kayaks with seal thongs and other appli- 
ances. These kayaks were soon firmly bound 
together into the form of a catamaran and launched 
into the surf with the skill of long practice, a crew 
of three sitting on the decks of the kayaks rather 
than within, and therefore being washed by every 
wave that came. Once free of the surf, they slowly 
made their way to the sailboat, and when they ap- 
proached within four feet of it the two men in the 
sailboat jumped to the decks of the bobbing little 
craft and were promptly brought to shore, the boat 
again being landed with the utmost skill on the 
rocks through the driving surf. The strength of the 
kayak not only to hold grown men on its deck but 
to allow the men to jump from the height of the boat 
deck, and also to allow of tying together necessary 
to hold so large a crew is a revelation to one who has 
not studied these remarkable little structures. As 
it then seemed that the sailboat could not last out 
the storm two more trips were made in the catama- 
ran to rescue the other men and the supplies from 
the boat. At six o 'clock that evening the party was 
finally reunited about the camp fire and surrounded 
by a group of fifteen or twenty Huskies — men, 
women, and children from the adjacent camp, some 
cold and wet, and all hungry. The least we could 
do for the Huskies in return for their efficient help 
was to attempt to fill them up with food, but we soon 
gave this up in despair. There was no limit to 
their capacity, neither then nor at any other time 
we tried it. It was simply a matter of giving what 



70 Summer on Hudson Bay 

we regarded as a reasonable amount and then arbi- 
trarily cutting off the supply. 

The Husky appears fat and rosy on a diet consist- 
ing almost, if not entirely, of seal meat and other 
game, and that frequently in not too great quantities, 
but when given a chance, he proves amply that his 
limited diet is not one of choice. It gave us much 
pleasure to supply their ravenous hunger, especially 
that of the women and children, but we soon found 
our supplies going at an alarming rate, and found it 
necessary to call a halt. They took our action cheer- 
fully and seemed to take much delight later in little 
scraps of pork rind, greasy dishes left from our 
meals, tea grounds, and anything else we could spare. 
I would like to try some time the experiment of let- 
ting a group of half a dozen Huskies have access to 
an inexhaustible supply of food to note the result. 

During our stay near Kichmond Gulf we were sel- 
dom alone in camp. The kindly, good-natured Hus- 
kies stood around in curious groups watching our 
every motion. Whenever they could be of aid in 
getting firewood, bringing water, or pegging down 
a tent, they promptly took matters in hand without 
asking us. It is the custom in that country to back 
tents against the wind, there being no timber pro- 
tection. One day when the wind shifted, as I sat in 
my tent it was suddenly lifted from above me, 
turned through an angle of forty-five degrees, and 
set down. Rushing out to see what was the matter, 
I found that a group of Huskies had held a council 
of war over the situation, decided that the tent was 
not properly placed, and promptly pulled it up, 
turned it, and staked it without taking the trouble 



Husky Clothes 71 

to mention it to me. They would even come unasked 
into the tent and pull boulders out of the ground in 
order to make our sleeping place a little more com- 
fortable. 

The Husky's wardrobe ranges from full pictur- 
esque sets of furs to ordinary European attire. They 
prefer clothes other than fur during the summer, 
but are often not able to obtain them. Some of the 
women were dressed in queer-looking costumes 
made of bits of canvas and gunny sacks. Any 
scraps of clothing that we discarded were eagerly 
seized upon and made over into serviceable gar- 
ments. An old canvas pack sheet striped with bril- 
liant three-inch bands was eagerly seized upon by 
one of the Huskies for a dress for his wife. It was 
stretched out on the ground, the Huskies squatted 
around it and had a long animated consultation as 
to the manner of cutting it in order to produce the 
best possible results. We regretted that we were 
unable to see the finished garment. 

Two articles of clothing are especially prized by 
the Huskies: white moleskin trousers and the long- 
black hooded coats or capots worn from time im- 
memorial by the Hudson Bay group. The coats, 
the same as figure in prints of old voyaging scenes, 
are still a picturesque feature of the Bay. When 
one first meets a group wearing these coats, he is 
carried back to the days of the old voyager and 
trapper. But as a matter of fact, for Hudson Bay 
these are the days of the voyager and trapper. 
The life there is a remnant of the old life which for- 
merly spread over so much of Canada. The mole- 
skin trousers are incongruous in their surroundings. 



Y2 Summer on Hudson Bay 

While serviceable, they soil easily and would seem, 
for this reason, to be unsuited to the rough condi- 
tions of the Bay. Some of the natives, while per- 
haps refraining- from washing their faces for weeks 
at a time, take special pride in keeping their trous- 
ers white, some of them having two pairs in order 
to have them washed regularly. I had a pair of 
khaki trousers which I had worn continuously for 
two months. They had accumulated what I re- 
garded as a most satisfactory layer of grease and 
dirt as a protection from the elements. I felt as 
much at home in them as with my well-seasoned 
pipe. Bill, our Husky guide, eyed them critically 
one day, asked whether I had a change of trousers, 
and when I replied in the affirmative, promptly or- 
dered me to take them off in order that he might 
send them over to an adjacent Husky camp and 
have them washed. My refusal on the ground that 
the trousers were in quite satisfactory condition 
was incomprehensible to Bill. Notwithstanding the 
Husky's dislike to have water touch his person, he 
is remarkably fastidious about his clothes. Soap 
is one of his first purchases when he has the means 
and opportunity. Even furs get frequent applica- 
tions of hot water and soap. On the whole we came 
to regard Huskies as a cleanly people, notwith- 
standing reports to the contrary. Of course a 
Husky might not make the best of impressions in 
this regard in a modern civilized home, but consid- 
ering the rude conditions of his life and climate, it 
seemed to us that he had solved the problem of 
cleanly living fairly well. Indeed, his habits would 
probably compare favorably with those of the aver- 




ESKIMO WOMAN' 



Salmon 73 

age white man who tries to live under the same con- 
ditions, at least until the white man had been there 
long enough to find himself and to become adjusted 
to the surroundings. Under stress of travel we our- 
selves lapsed into careless habits which were not re- 
garded favorably even by the Huskies. 

In the treeless country everything must be staked 
securely against the wind. A fire is made with 
sticks laid flat on the ground built up in crisscross 
tiers, with flat top to hold the pots in close to the 
fire. Often the pot is set on the ground with the 
sticks about it. Even then staking is sometimes de- 
sirable to keep the wind from blowing away the fire, 
brands and all. Pipes are usually protected from 
the wind by a cover and the prevalent plug tobacco 
is cut coarsely and securely packed. The wind sup- 
plies enough draft to burn anything short of a brick. 

Tiring of the wait for favorable winds to take the 
sailboat through the dangerous passage into Rich- 
mond Gulf, our party was divided. Roberts, Adams, 
and myself, with the aid of half a dozen Huskies, 
packed across country into Richmond Gulf, passing 
on the way Salmon river, where Huskies were 
spearing fine salmon running from fifteen to twenty 
pounds each in weight. Having had a pretty steady 
diet of pork up to this time, we had little difficulty 
in eating salmon three times a day. A few long 
plugs of black tobacco brought us enough salmon 
to last the entire party for nearly a week. Our port- 
age was accompanied by nearly all of the Huskies 
living in that vicinity, men, women, and children to 
the number of about fifteen, presenting a most mot- 
ley array. 



74 Summer on Hudson Bay 

For the next week we studied the geology of 
Richmond Gulf, using our canoe to get from place 
to place. Wherever we went we were followed by 
our three Husky assistants in three kayaks, carry- 
ing our supplies. No matter when or where we 
went or at what speed, the three kayaks hovered 
like shadows close behind, with their occupants 
chattering or smiling and apparently making little 
effort to keep up with us. The superiority of 
the kayak over the canoe was amply demonstrated. 
With three paddles in a light canvas canoe we 
were unable, when doing our best, to more 
than keep up with the kayak, with its single Husky 
paddler, and he apparently not exerting himself. 
In rough water the kayak is even more satisfactory, 
for its lightness and covered decks allow its use in 
heavy seas which would swamp an open canoe. The 
kayak is really a marvel of ingenious construction. 
A light framework of bent wood is fastened together 
by wonderful lacings of sealskin thongs. The en- 
tire framework is then covered with a waterproof 
sealskin jacket, leaving only a small cockpit in the 
deck. It is at once graceful, strong, and speedy. 
One wonders why something of this type is not 
more often used in our country. The Husky puts 
his gun, clothes, blankets, food, etc., under the 
decks, where they remain dry under all conditions. 
Occasionally he will also tuck part of his family 
there. When a seal is shot or speared, or a fish 
caught, it is added to the general collection. The 
kayak looks small and dainty on the water, but we 
soon came to have great respect for its carrying ca- 
pacity. Indeed, we never felt sure, no matter how 



Aye! 75 

miicli came out of the hold, but there might be 
something unexpected still to come. There is much 
exhilaration in paddling a kayak. A double paddle 
is used over the pit combing as a fulcrum. It is 
necessary to sit with legs outstretched on the bot- 
tom, or at least not more than two or three inches 
from the bottom, for the boat will not stand up- 
right with the center of gravity higher. This makes 
it extremely difficult to step into, for it is hard to 
transfer the center of gravity to the bottom of the 
canoe at once. It is usually necessary to rest the 
flat bottom on shore and step in, or lay one's paddle 
against the shore and over the top of the kayak to 
hold it upright. An expert Husky will sometimes 
wade out into the water, even into the surf, and leap 
to the bottom of the kayak without the aid of his 
paddle. This is really a wonderful feat, as we had 
good reason to learn after having tried vainly again 
and again to get into a kayak unaided without tip- 
ping over. Long journeys by kayak are rarely 
imdertaken alone. Travel in pairs, if possible, is a 
matter of safety. 

We had engaged two Huskies to accompany us in 
Eichmond Gulf. A third came along simply because 
he had nothing else to do, and cheerfully took part 
in all the heavy work which needed doing. None 
of them could speak a word of English, and our 
Husky vocabulary, after a few weeks' acquaintance, 
was not a large one. Notwithstanding, we had little 
difficulty in getting along. On expressing the slight- 
est wish with signs, the Husky's face would light 
up with a swift and bright look of comprehension, 
followed by an ''aye" (all right), pronounced with 



76 Summer on Hudson Bay 

a rising inflection, and instant effort to comply with 
the wish. This word ' ' aye, ' ' by the way, is a great 
convenience to the traveler. We were told before 
meeting the Huskies that whenever we wished to 
make ourselves agreeable or to hurry things up, or 
were at a loss for any words to express our wish, 
''aye" would accomplish much for us. Another 
word, ''ah" (yes), pronounced with a falling in- 
flection, was almost equally valuable. In a Husky 
conversation these words were sprinkled as thickly 
as commas in written matter, almost every statement 
being acknowledged by the hearers with a "aye," 
and in turn affirmed by the speaker with an "ah." 
We "ayed" and "ah'd" our way through many sit- 
uations. Indeed, we came to enjoy the words for their 
own sakes. A pleasant twinkle in a Husky's eyes 
would usually bring forth an "aye" from some mem- 
ber of the party, instantly responded to with another 
"aye" or "ah." When everybody was working 
hard or traveling was especially arduous, some one 
of the party would shout ' ' aye. ' ' Instantly all faces 
would light up and there would be a chorus of ayes 
and ahs. It is hard to explain just what these words 
meant under these circumstances beyond a vague 
expression of good fellowship and good will. 

The Huskies with us on this trip, as well as all 
we met, were a never failing source of good humor. 
No grouch could last long in their presence. They 
seemed to get enjoyment out of so many things and 
to look so persistently on the bright side that it 
rather shamed anyone who allowed himself to be 
pessimistic. 




ENTRANCE TO RICHMOND GULF 




SCENE, RICHMOND GULF 



Dangerous Traveling 77 

Travel on Richmond Gulf 

Practically every yard traveled on Richmond 
Gulf with our canoe was against a heavy adverse 
wind. Time and time again plans were changed in 
order to take advantage of the wind, only to have 
it shift adversely. So persistent and strong were 
the winds that in order to get through at all we had 
to run many chances in high waves which we would 
not otherwise have taken. Sometimes it was a gam- 
ble whether we could keep the canoe on top. Some 
days it was quite impossible to use the canoe. Then 
the three kayaks were fastened together with poles 
and seal lines, all of us getting on top, and we towed 
the canoe. This craft was slow and the work was 
cold and discouraging, for each wave came over the 
top, and in our uncomfortable position, kneeling on 
the top of the kayaks, we soon became cramped. 

The end of the week found us ready to leave the 
Gulf, thoroughly tired out and dispirited. A con- 
tinuous fight against the elements had put such an 
edge on our tempers that it was hardly safe to ven- 
ture remarks around the camp upon the most harm- 
less subjects. We argued like children over the 
best course to take to avoid the winds. In the early 
part of our trip it was customary to stand around 
and offer tentative suggestions to the luckless indi- 
viduals doing the cooking. As times became more 
strenuous, suggestions were more tentative, and 
fraught with danger, and in time ceased altogether. 
If the bannock or beans or pork were burned, who 
cared, and whose business was it anyway? Fortu- 
nately all recognized that this state of mind was 



78 Summer on Hudson Bay 

the natural result of physical exertion, exposure, 
and exasperation, because at no time during the trip 
had the elements relented even a little to let us get 
our bearings. 

Gulf Hazard v 

Our exit from Richmond Gulf was by way of 
Gulf Hazard, a narrow passage connecting Rich- 
mond Gulf with Hudson Bay. From the time we 
reached Hudson Bay we had heard of the danger of 
this passage, which is only three hundred yards 
wide at the narrowest point, with high cliffs on both 
sides, through which the tides of Richmond Gulf 
discharge. It is passable to any sort of craft only 
for a few minutes near change of tide. When the 
tide is running full, it is extremely dangerous, for 
the great whirlpools, likely to form anywhere, are 
powerful enough to pull down the largest available 
boats. Many accidents have happened here and 
lives have been lost. We were warned again and 
again to be careful in making this little two-mile 
passage into the Gulf, and when we reached the pas- 
sage going north our guide seemed afraid to at- 
tempt it with the sailboat under the conditions 
which we met, constantly postponing the attempt 
until the wind was more favorable. He dreaded 
the possibility of getting only part way through 
with the sailboat during the few moments of safety, 
and then being caught in the rush of the tide. Com- 
ing out, therefore, with our light canoe and kayaks 
the passage was approached with some little trepi- 
dation. We put ourselves entirely in the hands of 
our Husky guides. As we hovered near the mouth 



Safely Out of the Gulf 79 

of the gulf awaiting the right moment, they sud- 
denly gave the word to go through. One of them 
took the lead to point the way, we came next, and 
the other two Huskies brought up the rear. The 
conditions were ideal for safe passage but we were 
not without uncomfortable qualms as minor whirl- 
pools, big enough to twist the canoe out of its course 
in spite of our best efforts, would suddenly develop 
immediately under us. 

Tenderfeet 

The natives seemed to have an unusually well-de- 
veloped sense of responsibility for our safety. It 
was impossible to venture even on short side trips 
without having one or more of them volunteer to 
look after us. Indeed, they came whether we 
wanted them or not. At first we rather resented 
being treated like tenderfeet, but after realizing the 
uncertainties of travel and the necessity for accu- 
rate knowledge of local conditions, we appreciated 
all the help of this kind we could get. We had 
traveled on Richmond Gulf for nearly a week with 
the Huskies before we found out that each morning 
before we started out on our work sealskin bags 
(used for markers to harpoon lines) were blown up, 
put onto the kayaks, and fastened with long seal- 
skin thongs, to be used for our benefit in any pos- 
sible emergency. For that matter, we were re- 
garded as tenderfeet from the moment we struck 
the Bay until the time we left it. The Hudson's 
Bay Company post managers, the natives, and even 
the missionaries treated us as if we were forlorn 
wanderers without previous experience in traveling, 



80 Summer on Hudson Bay 

for whom they must necessarily take responsibility. 
The Canadian used to traveling through his interior 
woods assumes as a matter of course that he is able 
to travel on Hudson Bay, and it is only after bitter 
experience that he comes to learn his limitations. 
Even the hardy French and English voyagers from 
the Ottawa and Temiskaming country, who occa- 
sionally come to the Bay, are treated as tenderfeet by 
the natives. On the way out we saw three of these 
men who had attempted to join a party on the Bay, 
and after working for three days on the south 
shore, gave up in despair in the attempt to 
meet the unusual conditions, and were promptly 
trundled off homeward by the Hudson's Bay offi- 
cials. A half-breed Frenchman in charge of the 
party said he had spent a lifetime in traveling 
through the wilds of Canada, but he had not yet 
found anything comparable to Hudson Bay, and 
would not again venture there for a thousand 
dollars. 

The Start for Home 

The sailboat was waiting for us at the mouth of 
Gulf Hazard, with a small group of Huskies who 
had accompanied the boat in their kayaks this far 
south simply because they had nothing better to do 
and enjoyed the company of strangers. Notwith- 
standing the fact that we had breakfasted before 
starting from the gulf, two hours later we found 
another breakfast of salmon awaiting us and we 
promptly forgot the first and heartily enjoyed the 
second. 



A Bad Start 81 

We had now finished the principal part of our 
geological work. Our results had been satisfac- 
tory, notwithstanding the many vexatious delays, 
and the start for home was made in what seemed 
to us ample time to get out before the freeze-up. 
On August 27th we set sail for the south in high 
spirits, with every reason to believe that we would 
reach the railway track within a month or five 
weeks. But our troubles were not over, the Bay 
was still ''holding out on us." After beating 
around all one day with a light wind, we landed on 
an island two miles across from our camping place 
of the morning. The next day we drifted around 
all day in the cold fog and at night landed at our 
old camping ground of the day before, tired out 
with the long hours in the boat, cold and hungry, 
tired of each other's company, so discouraged and 
ugly, in fact, that we were almost dangerous. 

The Wreck of the Sailboat 

The third day the start was made with little better 
prospects. In some ten hours' work we made nearly 
fifteen miles south. When within four miles of a 
harbor late in the afternoon, a cool breeze came 
suddenly out of the northwest, our Husky guides 
calling attention to it long before it struck us. We 
could see a little streak of blue in the distance. It 
came first as a light breeze, but we all felt instinct- 
ively there was something more beyond. The Husky 
guide promptly pulled the hood of his coat over his 
head, took a firmer grip on his pipe and the tiller, 
and looked so frequently in the direction of the 



82 Summer on Hudson Bay 

harbor four miles ahead and out to sea where the 
breeze was constantly rising, that we began to rec- 
ognize the situation as one of danger. Little was 
said, therefore, as the boat scudded toward the har- 
bor near Little Whale river. Within five minutes 
we were in the midst of a howling gale with the 
waves constantly rising. By the time the mouth of 
the harbor was reached the billows were as high as 
our thirty-foot boat could stand. From the bottom 
of the trough our view was up along slopes terrify- 
ing to contemplate. The boat shot through the nar- 
row rocky opening of the harbor, the crew in their 
places waiting for orders from the pilot, one man 
at each of the three sails, and one at the anchor. As 
we rapidly crossed the narrow harbor the guide 
shouted something, which we could not hear dis- 
tinctly in the storm, about the harbor not being 
properly protected, and the necessity of getting out 
again, probably having in mind the narrow escape 
of the boat a week previous. He apparently was 
considering the possibility of running out again and 
making a safer harbor. In the meantime the boat 
had almost reached the surf. We shouted and 
pointed out the danger, and even started to drop 
anchor, only to be stopped by the vociferous orders 
of the pilot not to drop it. The guide then attempted 
to jibe arpund with the wind, but his decision to 
act had come too late. A great sea picked up the 
boat and crashed it onto the rocks. 

The next few minutes were wild ones. With each 
wave hurling the boat, crunching and rocking on its 
keel, against the rocks, waves going in solid sheets 
over the top of the boat, sails cracking dangerously 



On the Rocks 83 

above our heads, and ballast shifting under us, we 
were uncertain how long our boat could stand the 
strain. At any rate, we were one hundred miles 
from the nearest source of food supply, and it was 
necessary to get to shore if possible with food. The 
canoe was promptly cut from its stays. Two of the 
men went overboard in the surf, the canoe was 
passed out to them, and they pulled it to shore. Two 
others went into the forward hold to rescue pork 
and flour. These were passed back to companions 
in the boat, thence over the sides of the boat to the 
men, who came plunging again and again over the 
slippery rocks to get things we handed overboard. 
That no man was drawn in the undertow or lost 
his balance in the surf shows the remarkable skill 
of the Huskies. After a few seconds the boat lodged 
firmly on the rough ledge, making it certain that 
we would have at least a few minutes in which to 
save our belongings. Time was then taken to com- 
pletely empty the boat. 

Darkness found us on shore, with all our supplies 
and equipment, food, tents, blankets, and personal 
clothing, thoroughly wet, and a cold northwest gale 
penetrating our very vitals. But at any rate we were 
alive and had plenty of food. The rest was not 
essential. After some difficulty, a fire was started, 
tents were put up to afford shelter from the wind, 
a strong hot cup of tea and a pailful of rice soon 
put us in a cheerful frame of mind, and I do not 
exaggerate when I say that that night we went to 
bed reasonably happy in our wet blankets and 
clothes. 



84 Summer on Hudson Bay 

On Foot to Great Whale River 

The next day was spent in preparations for our 
overland trip to the nearest Hudson's Bay post at 
Great Whale river, nearly one hundred miles to the 
south. A fire was built behind a rock precipice, 
where we were protected from the wind, and there 
everything we possessed was spread out to dry. 
Drying is a slow process at any time on Hudson 
Bay, and at the end of the day the best we had done 
was to get reasonably dry some of the articles of 
clothing we wore next to our skins. Packs averag- 
ing fifty pounds each were made up for the south- 
ward trip; the rest of the supplies and equipment 
were made into bundles, placed on a raised plat- 
form against the precipice and covered with sails 
from the boat, to preserve them from marauding 
animals. To the natives a cache is sacred, even in 
cases of dire need. The recovery of this cache is de- 
scribed on page 116. In the afternoon a Husky family 
suddenly appeared from out of nowhere. Across 
the great bare rock wastes it is possible to see for 
miles, but distances and sizes are very deceptive. 
No one had noted the approach of the Huskies until 
they were within a few yards of the camp. While 
at first glance it would seem impossible that a hu- 
man being could stand anywhere in the landscape 
without being seen, it is difficult to distinguish large 
objects even a few hundred yards away because of 
the large size of the elements of the topography. 
Eidges which seem near and smooth are found on 
investigation to be far off and composed of many 
rough elements. This Husky family happened along 



Another Start for Home 85 

providentially, for themselves and for us. We were 
able to give them many things we had to discard. 
The man of the family in turn was able to aid us in 
the first stages of our packing trip to the south. 

On Monday morning we set off in high spirits to 
follow the extremely rough rocky coast south to 
Whale river. There was no trail. It was necessary 
constantly to climb up and down. The rocks for the 
most part were wet and slippery, so that we had to 
earn every yard of our advance. The fifty-pound 
pack made it certain that no one would go too fast. 
Whale river was reached safely in five and a half 
days. This bald statement, however, does not de- 
scribe the trip. The reader who has had some expe- 
rience in the short portages of the northern woods 
will perhaps appreciate what it means to travel for 
five days over a country without a trail from day- 
light till dark, carrying a fifty-pound pack. 

Packing 

A few days' packing — it is difficult to convey the 
significance of this phrase. Let this day be a sam- 
ple. We arose at about five from a bed on the bare 
ground or rock, perhaps without other shelter than 
a tree. No time was lost in dressing or washing for 
we slept in all our clothes (and wished for more) 
and washing in that cold climate is a disagreeable 
operation at best, is not absolutely necessary, does 
not directly aid in covering distance, in fact takes 
valuable time and is therefore usually omitted. 
Our party squatted shivering around the fire and 
ate a hot breakfast consisting of fried salt pork, 
bannock (baking powder bread cooked in the fry- 



86 Summer on Hudson Bay 

ing pan), tea, sugar (if we had any) and occasion- 
ally some additional luxury in the way of jam, rice, 
or oatmeal. All were more or less stiff and sore 
with cold, had little to say, and less patience to 
listen. As the hot tea or coffee made itself felt, 
the spirits of the party rose and conversation 
was begun. About twenty minutes were required 
after breakfast to pack up food and dishes (let not 
the plural bring up a picture of an imposing array), 
to arrange bedding and tent in packs, to light pipes, 
tighten belts, to see that boots were properly tied, 
(sealskin boots usually require ties above and below 
the knee and around the ankle), etc. There was 
usually some repacking and rearrangement of con- 
tents of packs necessary before the start was made 
to get the proper weight, to see that there were no 
corners to project into one's back, and above all to 
make it "hang right." There are a great variety 
of methods of carrying, by the tump line with which 
one carries by the head alone, by pack sack with 
shoulder and head straps carrying from the shoul- 
ders and head, and by a wonderful contrivance used 
by the Huskies, consisting of an intricate lacing of 
the pack with a thirty-foot seal skin thong, so ar- 
ranged that when complete there are about five 
strands used together as a head band and about 
three strands to pass around the arms and chest. 
This looks clumsier than the other methods and 
is more difficult to tie. In fact, throughout our 
trip we did not solve the mystery of the tying nor 
learn to carry such a pack with comfort. The Hus- 
kies, however, handled their loads effectively 
and expeditiously by this method. The Indians 



Bill's Legs 87 

use the tump line alone, carrying from the head. 
This is the method followed in Canada, and it may 
be noted in passing that the carrying is done by 
the head in nearly all parts of the world where 
packing is necessary on any large scale, as in China, 
or the Andes, or in the Himalayas. The pack 
sack, with shoulder straps, is used extensively 
only by white men. The pack bag is more con- 
venient for filling and arranging of load than the 
other packs, which are merely bundles wrapped 
in canvas sheets. Each method had its advo- 
cates in our party and many and vigorous were 
the discussions as to relative advantages of the 
several methods, without in the least modifying the 
views of any man in the party. I have perhaps 
taken an unfair advantage in noting the prevalence 
of the custom of carrying on the head, my own 
preference. 

Then the start was made, in file, with Bill, our 
Husky guide, in the lead. We had anticipated no 
difficulty in keeping up with him, as our legs gave 
us a considerably longer stride, but we soon found 
that we must work to do this, for Bill, in common 
with all the other Huskies we had anything to do 
with, traveled at a gait resembling a shuffling trot, 
not modified for hill or flat, and he also had some 
advantage in being more sure-footed over the slip- 
pery rocks with the sealskin boots, which we had 
not yet learned to manipulate so skillfully. As a 
result, after the first ten minutes most of us were 
breathing heavily, and when the weather was not 
too cold, even perspiring. But not to be outdone 
by the diminutive Huskies no one called for a rest 



88 Summer on Hudson Bay 

until the leader stopped. Halts of five or ten min- 
utes came about once an hour, and sometimes at 
longer intervals — usually when some of us at least 
had about decided that we could not keep up this 
gait all day, that there was no use killing ourselves, 
in short that we were nearly ''all in." Would the 
man ahead never stop? Surely he must have less 
than his share of the load — it is obvious that he 
cannot be loaded as heavily as I am, or he would 
not be moving along so jauntily. As soon as we 
stop I will lift his pack and see. Surreptitious lift- 
ing of the pack afterwards reveals the fact that his 
load is actually heavier, and as he is breathing quite 
as heavily as myself, I become ashamed of my sus- 
picions. 

But almost the instant the pack slipped to the 
ground, one's troubles were forgotten, and after a 
few whiffs from the pipe, the grind was resumed 
with something approaching good spirits. The sec- 
ond hour was like the first. One became even more 
convinced that he could not last all day. The third 
hour was better, for there was something to eat and 
a cup of tea to look forward to. Lunch over, we 
again started cheerfully, but soon relapsed into the 
same hopeless frame of mind. As the day wore on 
we became less sensitive of our bodies, our minds 
worked but sluggishly, and our movements became 
more automatic. When asked one afternoon if he 
were tired, one of our party expressed the feelings 
of most of us when he replied, "Oh, I don't know 
how I feel. " It is this condition which really brings 
one through the day. Too keen an appreciation of 
one's body or a too active intellect that rebels at 



Time Passes 89 

monotony are not desirable prerequisites for the 
work. A saying current in Canada is that a good 
packer must have a strong back and a weak head. 
After eight to twelve hours of this sort of thing, 
stop was made for the night, usually at some river 
selected in the morning as our objective. The ap- 
proach of this objective furnished another incentive 
to keep up our flagging spirits at the end of the 
day. While really too tired to travel, it would be 
really too bad to stop short, — it could not be more 
than three or four miles away, and if we stopped 
there would be so much more to do tomorrow, if we 
were to keep to our schedule. It is surprising how 
considerations like this keep a party plugging along, 
without murmur. But the work was not finished 
when the camp ground was reached, for a fire must 
be built, supper cooked, perhaps a tent pitched, or 
a place cleared for a bed under some stunted spruce. 
Usually within an hour after arrival we were 
through with supper and sitting about smoking our 
pipes, in the best of spirits, with the day's drudgery 
all but forgotten. The morrow's work looked easy. 
Little time was lost in getting to bed, and all too 
soon the next day's grind was on, with its cycles of 
cheerfulness and depression. While the hours were 
interminably long, the days followed each other in 
quick succession. The events of preceding days be- 
came merged into a blur, and differences of opinion 
arose as to preceding events and as to the number 
of days we had been at it. Twice during the sum- 
mer, on our arrival at a Hudson's Bay post after a 
long wearisome grind, we found ourselves a day off 
in our calculation of time. 



90 Summer on Hudson Bay 

If one could but record all the burning thoughts 
on the subject of packing which pass through his 
mind during a day's experience, he might convey 
some notion of what it means. But perhaps it is 
fortunate that we are so constituted that our joys, 
and not our troubles, are best remembered. The 
man who has had to pack will perhaps concur in 
the general conclusion that packing is the crudest 
and hardest means of travel that one subjects him- 
self to. An assistant in one of my Canadian parties 
once expressed this idea tersely when he defined a 
portage as ''the longest distance between two 
points. ' ' 

My brother adds: ''To specify further it is a 
place where you start at one end with one hundred 
pounds on your back and put down two hundred 
pounds at the other. It is the recognized breeding 
ground and battlefield of the mosquito tribes and 
black fly armies, the ambush of the no-see- 'ems, 
and the roosting and feeding place of myriads of 
other insects that buzz, sting, and annoy. It is a 
devil's play-ground, where the toughest shrubs 
grow the thickest; where the mud, mire, and swamp 
try to hold you fast; where the rocks are all delib- 
erately laid to turn under foot, coated with vege- 
table grease to make them more slippery, or piled to 
compel climbing or crawling to find a way around; 
in short, where the laws of the Universe are re- 
versed. The shortest portage is always the longest 
and the longest still longer; the good portage is 
always bad and the bad still worse; it is never where 
it should be, but invariably where it should never 
be; it begins wrong and ends bad, and vice versa; 



Packing Described by an Enthusiast 91 

it runs straight up a steep cliff and along the 
level is so crooked that you can't tell whether 
you are going forward or coming back; one half 
the time on a portage you are losing yourself 
and the other half finding yourself and getting 
lost over again; muscle is here supreme over 
intellect; fine talents are useless, ingenuity of no 
avail, anger and emotion futile; a bull neck, a hard- 
ened back, and large thighs beat all science and 
knowledge; it cures headache or sickness, blots out 
grief or love, checks all ambition and destroys all 
aspirations by causing the senses to become numb 
and the heart cold. However bad the portage may 
be there is always a worse one and a man present 
to tell you of it. He compares the present easy 
beautiful portage with the really bad one of Temis- 
kamingue, over which the Indian Two Feet could 
not go without five hundred pounds pulling on his 
tump line, or the Mattawagami, where Big Moose, 
the pride of the Creepewas, was four days carrying 
fifty pounds over and six days returning light. Civ- 
ilized man on a portage becomes a barbarian and 
home ties do not bind nor religion offer consolation. " 
It may be hard to convince the reader that there 
is any real enjoyment in this kind of travel, but 
there is. As the body becomes accustomed to it, 
and especially as the neck and shoulder muscles 
become strengthened, one comes to feel a solid satis- 
faction in the physical fitness which enables him to 
stand the work with impunity. Then the wonderful 
appetite so developed, and the still more wonderful 
digestion, is no small consideration. Not the least 
of the beneficial effects is the elimination of nerves. 



92 Summer on Hudson Bay 

One can safely recommend it is an infallible cure 
for the nervous patient — if it does not kill him first. 

By Kayak 

"With this digression, we may return to our open- 
ing remark that we reached Great Whale Hudson's 
Bay post, one hundred miles to the south, after five 
and a half days of packing. The only variation from 
the above daily routine was caused by a slight 
wrenching of my knee by slipping on a rock, fol- 
lowed by a sharp attack of rheumatism in the weak- 
ened member, probably due to wading the icy 
streams. This made travel difficult, and on the 
fourth day I had to utilize a kayak and Husky pad- 
dler, fortunately located on Manitonuk Sound by an 
advance scouting trip of our guide. This mode of 
traveling was interesting, though not to be rec- 
ommended. By taking off my coat, I was barely 
able to crowd feet first under the forward deck of 
the kayak. My head came just to the edge of the 
cock-pit, giving me opportunity to stare up into the 
sky. The paddler crowded his knees on both sides 
of my head. When thus secured, it was impossible 
to shift position, even to raise my hand to my face 
to wipe off drops of water which fell from the pad- 
dle. The odor of the interior of the sealskin boat 
and of the Husky's person did not add to my com- 
fort. This on the whole was one of the hardest trials 
of the trip. The close confinement was almost in- 
tolerable. It seemed as if I could not lie still for 
long under such trying conditions. But as there 
was no alternative, the only thing to do was to for- 
get so far as possible that I could not move, or per- 



Welcomed by Nero 93 

suade myself that after all I did not care to move, 
or to think so hard about something else as to be- 
come oblivious of my condition. Three-quarters of 
a day of this was quite enough. I was then prepared 
to walk the rest of the way, if it meant hopping on 
one foot. The next day I was able to hobble along 
most of the time, but got rests at intervals by pad- 
dling the kayak, while the Husky owner walked 
along the shore. The paddling of a kayak is not 
difficult, though long practice is necessary to acquire 
anything like the skill or speed shown by the 
Huskies. One faces forward and delights in the easy 
control of the graceful little craft. Barring a stiff 
head wind, especially unfortunate for a novice, this 
part of the trip I really enjoyed. 

Delays at Whale River Post 

By traveling all night two of our Husky guides 
had reached Great Whale Hudson's Bay post early in 
the morning of the day we arrived; as a result we 
were greeted four miles from the post by a small 
party of Huskies sent out to welcome us. As soon 
as we came in sight they built a fire, brewed tea and 
set out a little spread of jam and pancakes cooked 
in porpoise oil. It was a cold drizzling day and 
seldom has a welcome been more appreciated. Nero, 
a famous hunter and preacher in charge of the party, 
was bubbling over with good spirits, and before we 
reached the post had effectively dispelled the clouds 
of our unhappiness. Among miscellaneous bits of 
cheerful news which he volunteered was the arrival 
of the Blineu, the Hudson 'sBay local supply steamer, 
to carry us to Moose Factory. We wondered what 



94 Summer on Hudson Bay 

could have brought the boat there at so opportune 
a time, as it had not been possible to convey any in- 
formation of our whereabouts to officers of the com- 
pany controlling the steamer, but we were content 
to accept this miraculous appearance without com- 
ment as one of the many curious surprises on Hud- 
son Bay. Not until we detected several contradic- 
tions in Nero's story did we realize that this tale 
was simply a part of his good-natured attempt to 
cheer us up. Not only was there no steamer there, 
but the sailboat attached to the post was away for 
supplies, and probably would not return until too 
late to help us out. The only alternative seemed to 
be a canoe for the one hundred and eighty miles to 
Fort George, where there was another possibility 
of getting a sailboat. We promptly dispatched Bill 
and his Husky assistant by foot along the shore to 
Bill's camp north of Cape Jones, thence by canoe 
to Fort George, with letters notifying the officers of 
our approach and asking that if possible a sailboat 
be held in readiness for us. 

We were unable to start with the canoe for two 
days because of rough weather. The interval was 
happily spent at the Hudson 'sBay post, enjoying the 
warm hospitality of Mr. Maver, the post manager, 
resting up, nursing our game legs, working over 
equipment, and principally sleeping, eating, and 
smoking, for no one of which did we feel the time 
sufficient. 

Before going to Whale River post we were told 
that the post manager had one weakness — he played 
the violin, and was especially fond of one piece, 
Schubert's Serenade — and if we wished to please our 



Schubert's Serenade 95 

host we should approach the post whistling his 
favorite melody. While we did not follow this ad- 
vice, before leaving Whale River post we were con- 
vinced that his reputation had not been exaggerated. 
Mr. Maver is not a musician, and above all not a 
violinist ; but having heard the visiting parson play 
Schubert's Serenade, had fallen in love with it and 
was putting in his best efforts trying to master it. 
Morning, noon, and night while we were at the post, 
whenever the violin was picked up, we heard the 
opening parts of Schubert's Serenade. The last 
part he never mastered, although we whistled it 
many times for his benefit. It is altogether likely 
that he is still persevering and, we hope, enjoying 
his music. As for us, Schubert's Serenade does not 
have the attractions it once had. 

In due time we left Whale River post. Two miles 
outside the mouth of the river it became apparent 
that the weather was too rough for canoe travel, so 
we went into camp. Here we waited for four days 
for a favorable opportunity to start. Then, having 
lost so much time, we returned to the post for more 
supplies, and started again. 

This time we got three miles away, and were 
driven into camp — to remain for eight days, unable 
to even launch a canoe during this time. Words 
are futile to describe the utter dreariness and hope- 
lessness of these waits, with little to read, tired of 
traveling, anxious beyond expression to get home, 
each day lost diminishing our chances of getting out 
before freeze-up. Waking up in the morning we 
listened anxiously for signs of tlie abatement of the 
gale, and discerning none, got up in no pleasant 



96 Summer on Hudson Bay 

state of mind to face another empty and stupid day. 
We knew one another's histories and pet stories by 
heart, and were so discouraged that only rarely 
were we able to raise the conversation to general 
topics of interest. If one made a vigorous at- 
tempt, he was likely to be asked what that had to 
do with getting home. The weather became the sub- 
ject of much ill-tempered conversation. In this state 
of mind, I wrote a poem, a verse a day, much to the 
wrath and disgust of my companions. Here it is: 

HUDSON BAY* 

Oh, take me away from Hudson Bay, 

Where the wild rose bloometh not; 
Where the summer is winter, both soon and yet, 

And the winter is not hot; 
Where the cold north wind does not shirk, 
And only the sun forgets to work. 
Where tea takes the place of water 

And water the place of air; 
Where the toothbrush is not yet discovered 

And a bath is a luxury rare. 

On Hudson Bay the fish don't play. 

Nor the sun come up like thunder, 
For the fog is so thick 
And the wind so quick 

That the fish have to stay in under. 

Indeed, I would no longer stop 

In a land where fur is the only crop; 

Where the food is tinned. 

Likewise the news. 

And only time is extensively used. 

* ' ' Cut it out ' ' is the marginal note written on the manuscript by 
a kind reader. I refuse I 



Some More Starts 97 

Now I know why Henrik Hudson 
Was put adrift without his duds on — 
He went out of his way 
To discover a bay 

That had troubles enough of its own. 

If I ever get back 
To the railroad track 

I can safely promise you this: 
If again I should stray to Hudson Bay 

There'll be something sadly amiss. 

If there is no place like home, sweet home, 
Then there is no moral to this pome. 

The author was often subjected to unkind criti- 
cism while composing a stanza, thereby explaining 
certain kinks in the metre. 

A Disastrous Start 

Again it became necessary to return to the post 
for supplies, and again we ventured out. This time 
we were four miles down the shore, when a north- 
west wind made travel by boat quite impossible. 
We landed in a furious gale, laboriously packed our 
materials up over the boulders on the shore, made 
camp, had something to eat, lighted our pipes, and 
sat down to talk it over. The situation was getting 
unbearable. If we were to get home before freeze-up, 
something must be done to break the hoodoo. It 
was accordingly decided to divide the party, two of 
us to go forward on foot to Bill's camp seventy 
miles beyond, there to pack across Cape Jones, con- 
nect with Indians and canoes on the south side and 
hope for opportunities to travel along those more 



98 Summer on Hudson Bay 

protected shores. The other two were to try and 
bring the canoe and outfit as best they could to Fort 
George. 

My brother Arthur and I started ahead, each car- 
rying a fifty pound pack. Our progress was slow, 
because rheumatism had settled in one of Arthur's 
legs. A day and a half out, we were sitting on the 
shore brewing a pot of tea, when we were startled 
by the appearance of the long-awaited sailboat, 
sweeping majestically along before the wind under 
full spread of canvas. Here at last was relief. We 
waved our shirts, made a smoke smudge out of the 
fire, shouted, and danced about, in the attempt to 
flag the boat, which was scarcely a half mile from 
shore — but all to no purpose. Figures were seen 
to come to the side of the boat and look toward us, 
but the boat did not change its course. With sink- 
ing hearts we saw it disappear in the distance. Then 
suddenly another sailboat came into view, much to 
our amazement, for we did not know of the existence 
of another in this part of the Bay. It belonged to 
some strange Huskies. This also swept by without 
stopping. We learned afterwards that we were seen 
by occupants of both boats, but were mistaken for 
Indians, and it was argued that if we really wanted 
to meet them we could easily have taken a canoe 
and intercepted them. Unfortunately we did not 
have the canoe. In view of the uncertainty of get- 
ting the boats to transport us back down the coast 
so late in the season, we decided not to make the 
dreary trudge back to the post, but to advance. 
Anyway, this was the fourth start, and we were 
determined this time to get away for good. The 



Wading Sucker Creek 99 

fourth day brought us to Sucker creek, on the map 
a harmless-looking little stream, but in reality a 
roaring torrent of a river, which seemed impassable 
without a boat. That there was a ford somewhere, 
we knew, for our Huskies had come this way two 
weeks before. We spent a day and a half vainly 
hunting for it, going some eight miles up the stream, 
and finally returning to within a mile of the mouth 
of the stream to camp. During the night we talked 
it over. There seemed now more reason than ever 
for going ahead if possible. Above all we disliked 
retracing our steps again, especially for a thing 
with so ordinary a name as Sucker creek. So next 
morning we stripped to the waist, put our clothes 
into our packs, and matches in our caps and started 
across the rapids, shoulder to shoulder for mutual 
support, at a place where there seemed some chance 
of getting through. Half way across the impact of 
the powerful current caught the lower part of our 
packs and we began to wobble. In a moment one 
of the packs was thrown over; in the attempt to save 
it, the other pack went. Fortunately we were able 
to keep our feet and to struggle back to shore, which 
we reached so thoroughly numbed by the icy waters 
that we were unable to move rapidly. However, it 
was a bed rock case. All our food and most of our 
clothes were in the packs, and we must get them. 
I started down the boulder bank as fast as my con- 
dition would allow, and shouted to Arthur to climb 
the bank and run down half a mile to intercept the 
packs at the rapids. In about a quarter of a mile 
I overtook the packs as they bobbed down with the 
current, and, plunging into the rapids, seized one and 



100 Summer on Hudson Bay 

dragged it ashore. A second time I plunged into 
the current in the attempt to save the second pack, 
but without success. I got within striking distance 
of it as it came along, but I was so thoroughly- 
chilled and tired from my exertions that I did not 
dare make the last plunge necessary for fear of 
being swept down into the rapids with it. Return- 
ing to shore, I painfully made my way with the 
rescued pack to the top of the bank, and then started 
down stream to see what Arthur had accomplished. 
I went down half a mile to a spot where I could see 
almost every boulder between me and the mouth 
of the river, but could see nothing of him. Shout- 
ing brought no response. I feared that he had at- 
tempted to rescue the pack below and had been 
swept off in the torrent, but whatever had hap- 
pened, I could stand the exposure no longer, and 
beat a hasty retreat to our abandoned campfire of 
the morning. Some two hours were spent in warm- 
ing up, drying clothes and food from the pack, and 
dressing. The pack happened to be Arthur's pack 
containing his clothes, but being convinced by this 
time that he was in the rapids I put on his clothes, 
with a view of getting warm, at least temporarily. 
Then I started down the stream, still watching the 
shore narrowly for any signs of him. Near the mouth 
I was finally rewarded. Spying a wisp of smoke 
curling up from one of the little stunted spruces that 
dot the moss-covered plain, I approached it and 
found Arthur, in his shirt-tail, sitting comfortably 
under the tree before a fire smoking his pipe, and 
writing his diary. He had put matches and tobacco 
in his cap before attempting to cross the rapids. 



Dressed for the Occasion 101 

After cussing him for giving me such a fright, I 
learned that while trying to rescue the pack he had 
become so chilled that he doubted his ability to get 
back as far as the fire, and had decided to await me 
there, knowing that I would have to come that way. 
The relief from the strenuous experience of the 
morning was so great that the loss of half of our 
clothes and most of our food seemed trivial. By 
dividing the clothes we both got some covering. 
Mine consisted from the waist down of a pair of 
woolen underdrawers and a pair of light tennis 
shoes. Fortunately I had my heavy coat. The pack 
saved contained about ten pounds of flour and a 
pound and a half of pork. There were no utensils of 
any kind, nor tea. 

Finally, therefore, we must turn back, and must 
travel fast and hard over the fifty miles between 
us and the Whale Eiver post, the nearest source of 
supply. That day, having a late start, we traveled 
only ten miles, and at night, as usual, camped under 
a thick stunted spruce. The night was frosty and 
damp. "We slept on the ground without a tent, and 
with one blanket for the two of us. It meant fre- 
quent replenishing of the fire during the night. In 
fact, we simply caught cat-naps between the inter- 
vals of fire tending. Our sleeping on the return trip 
differed from that on the out trip in that we had less 
clothing for the night, but in both cases we were so 
cold that lack of clothes could scarcely make us 
more miserable. The morning found us cold and 
stiff with rheumatism. Getting breakfast was 
a slow and painful task, but after walking an hour 
or so we thawed out and traveled more comfortably. 



102 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Our food for the return trip was ample, though 
simple. Having no utensils to cook with, a flat rock 
was tilted toward the fire to reflect the heat. Then a 
little hollow was made in the center of the flour bag, 
and water dropped in with our hands until it was 
possible to knead a little cake of dough. This was 
spread on the hot rock, and a slice of salt pork put 
upon it, the grease thus running down into the 
dough. The process was a slow one, and we seldom 
had patience enough to wait until the dough was 
thoroughly cooked through. It was more expedi- 
tious to squat before the rock and pick off the outer 
portions of the cake as soon as they browned, thus 
exposing some more of the uncooked portion to the 
fire. Half an hour of this kind of picking usually 
satisfied our appetites. This may sound like hard- 
ship to one sitting comfortably at his varied break- 
fast, but it really was not. It quite appeased our 
hunger and gave us strength for the heaviest work 
of packing. In fact the novelty of the situation fur- 
nished us amusement and good cheer. Our principal 
hardship was the cold at night, and the thought of 
an extra night gave wings to our feet. The next 
day, with forty miles to walk along a rough coast, 
without a trail, for many miles over a limestone for- 
mation with sharp knife edges called by the Indians 
"glass rocks," with a cold northwest wind blowing, 
and flurries of snow, so lightly clad that it was 
necessary to travel fast to keep up circulation, we 
started at six, and with an aggregate of an hour and 
a half for meals, traveled continuously until eight 
o'clock that evening, when we arrived upon the 
river bank opposite the Hudson's Bay Post, having 



Final Start 103 

traveled forty miles in the day without a trail. Our 
shouts were fortunately heard by some Huskies who 
happened to be out looking at nets, and within half 
an hour we found ourselves in the warm and com- 
fortable house of the post manager. We soon got 
into dry clothes and nine o'clock found us at the 
table enjoying dinner with a keen and ravenous ap- 
petite, such as is felt by few people in a lifetime. 

Final Departure from Whale River 

Three weeks had now been spent in fruitless en- 
deavor to get away from Whale Eiver. We learned 
that the big sailboat which arrived during our last 
absence from the post was not available for the rea- 
son that its captain and pilot, a half-breed, refused 
point blank to take the risk of navigation so late in 
the year. It seemed that some years ago he made a 
similar trip late in the season and its hardships were 
vividly remembered. Nothing would tempt him to 
chance it again. When pressed by the post manager, 
he said that if ordered to go, he would thereafter 
leave the Company's service. No other pilot and 
crew were to be found. The best that could be done 
was to persuade the lately arrived Huskies to take 
us as far as Cape Jones in their crude sailing bateau. 
Nothing could induce them to go farther. We were 
advised that there was now no possibility of getting 
out to the railway before the freeze-up — that the 
best we could do was to reach some post down the 
coast, there to wait for the freeze-up allowing travel 
with dog team — and that when that time came we 
could do almost as well in time by starting from 
Whale River. But my desire to get away from the 



104 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Whale River post (not through any lack of hospi- 
tality) had become a consuming one and I decided 
to make an effort with one assistant to get as far 
as Fort George before freeze-up. Although all were 
anxious to go it was impossible to move the whole 
party with the equipment available. By mutual 
agreement Roberts was selected to accompany me. 
Division of the party in this way seemed best to all, 
since with uncertainty of means of travel which 
might be available beyond Cape Jones a small party 
seemed more likely to make progress than a large 
one. The two remaining were content to stay in 
order to facilitate our progress and thus get word 
home earlier. Also, if all were to be frozen in, it 
was better to divide the party between two posts on 
account of the food supply. Next morning Roberts 
and I started with the Huskies. At the mouth of the 
river the wind died out, and with much difficulty 
we sailed back to the post — the fifth return. Our 
numerous returns had become ludicrous, even to us. 
The next day departure was again attempted, this 
time successfully. Three days and two nights took 
us to Bill's camp on the north side of Cape Jones. 

A day's packing with the aid of the Husky crew 
took us fifteen miles across the Cape to a camp of 
Indians who showed us the warmest hospitality, 
even to preparing our meals, tending fires, and pitch- 
ing tents. There a canoe with two Indians was ob- 
tained and two days of fair off-shore winds brought 
us to Fort George, just a week out from Whale River. 

It seemed almost too easy after our trouble in get- 
ting started, and encouraged us to go farther. Mr. 
Griffiths, post manager, supplied us with a large 




INDIAN TEPEES, FORT GEORGE 




OLD FORT GEORGE 



Racing with Winter 105 

canoe and four of his Indian servants. So pleasant 
was onr reception here by Mr. Griflfiths, Mr. Ald- 
ridge, Kevillon Freres post manager, and Rev. Wal- 
ton, missionary, that we were loath to leave. They 
had received their mail and supplies by annual 
steamer since we had passed through north bound, 
and there was much to interest and please us. 

A week of continuous paddling against more or 
less light head winds brought us to East Main post. 

The weather remaining favorable, again a shift 
was made, this time to two light canoes with two 
Hudson's Bay servants, and the southward flight 
continued. Two days out we reached an Indian camp 
and changed canoes and guides. The end of the week 
brought us to Ruperts House — farther than we had 
thought it possible to go when we started — and con- 
ditions were favorable for still further progress. 
After our departure from Ruperts House on the 
northward trip and before our return there coming 
south, Mr. Stewart passed through the place on mag- 
netic work for the Carnegie Institution. He was 
informed that the appearance of two parties of 
strangers during the summer was almost too much 
for them, and they complained that the place was 
getting too much like a summer resort. 

We arrived tired, long after dark, but time was 
so precious that we started again next morning, this 
time with a large canoe and three Ruperts House 
servants. Becoming windbound after crossing 
Ruperts Bay, we secured two Indians and a boy 
from a neighboring camp, said goodbye to the old 
crew, and for two days packed with fifty-pound 
loads across Point Comfort and along the shore of 



106 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Hannah Bay — much of the way in soft muskeg in 
which we sank well up to our knees, but partly 
along the smooth tidal beach. The second night of 
this brought us to the camp of some Indian goose 
hunters. We camped in the muskeg that night by 
cutting willow brush and piling it up to keep us out 
of the water, and at 2:00 A. M. next day embarked 
with new guides, who carried us ten miles along the 
shore to another Indian camp, at the mouth of the 
Hurricanaw river. Next morning with new guides 
and canoe we succeeded in making about eight miles 
along the shore, when we were compelled by the 
high seas to wade with our canoe and supplies to 
the shore some half mile in. Hannah Bay is so shal- 
low that the receding tide uncovers nearly two miles 
of mud flats off shore. In fact it is difficult from 
shore to see the water when the tide is out. The 
falling tide is likely to strand one far from shore, 
and it is no pleasant job to get in to dry land, for 
after reaching shore there is still about two miles 
of muskeg swamp to cross before ground is reached 
sufficiently solid to camp on. Canoe was cached, 
packs resumed^ and two days of weary muskeg pack- 
ing brought us to Partridge Creeks, a ramifying net- 
work of small streams, too deep to cross, running 
through a barely passable swamp. Signaling by 
shots located another camp of goose hunters, who 
came after us in canoes and piloted us to their camp. 
Next morning goodbye was said to these guides and 
with two new ones we started again in canoes. Ou 
reaching the mouth of the creeks we found the long 
expected had happened — the tide flats were covered 
with broken ice and impassable to canoe. 



Mail from Home 107 

Moose Factory at Last 

Again packing was resumed and night brought us 
to Moose Factory, whence our course left the Bay 
for the railway. The trip from Euperts House to 
Moose Factory had been made in a week, with the 
aid of five sets of guides, three canoes, and sixty 
miles of packing. On the way over we met Mr. 
Nicolson en route from Moose to Euperts House 
with canoe and full crew. He had already been out 
nine days and wrote later that five days more were 
used on the trip. It was a satisfaction to us to know 
that our unusual efforts in packing had saved nearly 
a week — the week necessary to reach the railway. 

At Moose we found mail, the first word from home 
for four long months. Four weeks had elapsed since 
we left Whale river. Moose Factory had seemed 
impossible of attainment before freeze-up, yet here 
we were, and the post manager, Mr. McAlpine, as- 
sured us it was fairly possible to reach the railway 
because of the unusually late fall. It was difficult 
to arouse ourselves to the full significance of our 
good fortune because of the physical and mental 
fatigue that cried for a day of rest. The work of 
travel, in addition to the constant uncertainty, had 
numbed our faculties. 

During our absence on the northward trip from 
Moose, Mr. McLeod had been for the first time out 
to the railway track with the crazy Indian already 
mentioned, and was full of enthusiasm about what 
he had for the first time seen. Imagine what this 
means — a Scotchman fifty years old, fairly well 
read, interested in a variety of subjects, yet never 



108 Summer on Hudson Bay 

having seen a railway. In Toronto, Hamilton, and 
North Bay, he had been taken in charge by govern- 
ment officials and shown the sights in an automobile. 
The railway train he described as queer in some 
ways, but not essentially different from his impres- 
sions gained from print. McLeod with an officer 
and the crazy Indian had driven in a closed carriage 
to the asylum at Hamilton, which is located on top 
of a hill and reached by a lift, carrying up team and 
carriage. The carriage drove into a tunnel, stopped 
for a moment, and he suddenly found the carriage 
and the ground going up. As McLeod expressed it, 
''This was too much for me and the crazy Indian. 
We jumped for the doors, but were pulled back by 

the officers. I never hear-r-d of such a 

thing. ' * 

On arrival at Moose a small, loose-change pocket 
book containing twenty cents was handed to me with 
the remark that it had been left on one of the port- 
ages on the Missinaibi two hundred miles above and 
had been brought in by Indians coming in that way. 
Knowing that our party had been the only one over 
that route that year they assumed that the pocket 
book must belong to us. I had even forgotten that 
I had such a pocket book. It was an extra one 
which at the last moment before leaving the rail- 
road I had tossed into my packsack. 

Up the River to the Railway 

Tired as we were, the morning after our arrival 
at Moose saw us off again with canoe and three ex- 
pert canoemen for a nine days' drive for the rail- 
way against the stiff current. Most of the distance 



Tracking and Poling up the Moose and Abitibi 109 

was tracked and poled. A few quiet stretches were 
paddled, and of course there were the inevitable 
portages — one of them three miles long. For the en- 
lightenment of the uninitiated, tracking consists in 
hauling the canoe by a line, fifty to one hundred feet 
long, from the shore. Two at a time tracked on the 
line and crews changed once an hour. The hour in 
harness is a strenuous one, the custom being to walk 
and trot pellmell over boulders, up and down banks, 
and through brush, as fast as obstacles will permit. 
About four miles per hour were averaged. When 
the bank was too rough or brushy or the canoe pas- 
sage too far from shore, iron shod poles were used 
for propulsion. The Indians are very skillful with 
them. They took us up safely through rapids I 
would hesitate to run down alone, when the slightest 
slip, especially by the bowman, might throw the 
canoe sidewise down the rapids to probable disaster. 
In making up a crew for such a trip, one does not 
ask for good canoemen; it is necessary to select a 
skilled steersman and a skilled bowsman. The re- 
mainder of the crew are simply fillers. Indians 
spend a lifetime becoming expert as bowsmen or 
as steersmen. On the Bay he is not called gener- 
ally a skilled canoeman, but a bowsman or a steers- 
man. The position of chief bowsman of a Hudson's 
Bay brigade is a much sought honor, attained only 
by the strongest and most skillful men. 

Because of the lateness of the season our crew had 
been carefully selected, and many times during the 
trip we had occasion to admire their strength 
and skill. Above all we were impressed with the 
relentless persistence with which they drove the 



110 Summer on Hudson Bay 

canoe forward, now paddling, now poling, now 
tracking, changing rapidly from one to another, 
with no hesitation as to method. So thoroughly did 
they know the river and their business that there 
were few moments during the trip that their energy 
was not applied to the best possible advantage. Had 
we been without them, it would have taken nearly 
twice the time to make the same distance despite 
our best efforts. 

Twelve miles up the river the tidal limits were 
passed — with a sense of profound relief. Now only 
current and rapids to overcome — no more tides and 
insurmountable waves to harass us. But I may con- 
fess that the same feeling of relief was experienced 
on the down trip when the tidewater was reached 
and the boiling river left behind. 

On the Abitibi river were welcome messages from 
home — railway ties along the bank, swept down 
two hundred miles from the railway above. The 
first one looked good enough to caress. A tempo- 
rary railway bridge across the Abitibi had been 
swept down by the spring freshet, bringing a sup- 
ply of large pilings down to Moose Factory, where 
they were gratefully accepted, promptly turned into 
lumber and thence into boats and canoes for the 
most remote parts of the Bay, a destination scarcely 
anticipated by the railway company. The breaking 
of another bridge would not be regarded as an un- 
mitigated calamity on the Bay, where large timber 
is scarce. 

The third and fourth days it snowed, covering the 
ground two inches or more for the rest of the trip. 
Then it turned cold and the river froze in quiet 



Arrival at the Railway 111 

spots. We feared that some of the quiet stretches 
above might yet prove impassable. It was not until 
New Post was passed one hundred miles from the 
line that it became a certainty that the railway 
could be reached before freeze-up. A most pleasant 
evening was spent with the genial manager of New 
Post, Mr. Barrett, an English university graduate, 
who had traveled well about the world, and here 
lived in solitude with a well chosen classical library 
as his chief companionship. 

As the railway was approached, more and more 
debris, ties, piles, old boats, etc., were passed, cheer- 
ing us to greater efforts. On November 4th, after 
dark, we reached Cochrane, having been traveling 
homeward for forty days with only one day's rest, 
over a total distance of eight hundred miles, two 
hundred and fifty miles of which were by packing 
and the remainder by canoe and boat. With only 
twenty cents in my pocket and my letter of credit 
in the bottom of Hudson Bay, I approached with 
trepidation the Hudson's Bay manager here for 
food, lodging and transportation to Haileybury, 
where our trunks had been stored and funds awaited 
us. He was fully justified in keeping such tough 
looking tramps on the anxious seat for a time, but 
finally he courteously acceded to all of our requests. 
Our best assets seemed to be a stack of bills show- 
ing our liabilities to Hudson's Bay posts. He doubt- 
less reasoned that if they had trusted us for so 
much, he could afford a little more. 

Not until we took the train next morning and 
found we were moving along without physical effort 
did we realize that we were really out of the wilds. 



112 Summer on Hudson Bay 

We then relaxed to full enjoyment of physical rest, 
and of relief and pleasure at being able to notify 
family and friends of our safety and speedy home 
coming. 

Return of Lost Notes 

The story of the loss of our notes has been told 
(p. 100). On March 17, 1911, I received a telgram 
at my office at Madison, reading as follows: 

Cobalt, Ont., March 17, 1911. 
C. K. Leith, Madison, Wis. 

Have sent all your lost data, money and drafts to 
you today. Found at Cape Jones by Bill's son. 

EoBERT J. Flaherty. 

In due time the packages were received, containing 
notebooks, manuscript narrative of the trip, $53 in 
cash, bank drafts up to $300 (canceled on my return 
to civilization), letter of credit (nearly used up) 
many receipted bills, etc. They were all somewhat 
stained, some of the edges worn, and the writing on 
some of the outside pages blurred, but for the most 
part they were distinctly legible and in fair condi- 
tion. On margins of some of the sheets are notes by 
Eskimos written in Cree symbols. One can imagine 
the Huskies sitting about the camp fire, turning these 
sheets around, conjecturing their contents, and jot- 
ting an idle comment around the margin. I have 
yet to have these comments translated. The story 
of the finding and return of the notes, as told by Mr. 
Flaherty to a Toronto newspaper, is quoted below: 

"Several weeks ago there appeared an item in 
the newspapers announcing that Mr. R. J. Flaherty 
had returned from Hudson Bay and that he had 



Recovery of Lost Notes 113 

brought with him the diaries, field notes, etc., etc., 
lost during the previous summer by Prof. C. K. 
Leith. No further mention of the matter has been 
made. 

As Mr. Flaherty's journey was remarkable in 
many respects, we shall present here a few details. 
A more complete description will appear later. 
Even the bare outline, however, is most interesting. 

Mr. Flaherty, who is a very young man indeed, 
left Cochrane, a station on the Temiscaming & 
Northern Ontario Railway, on August 28th, 1910, 
with one white companion. Moose Factory was 
reached by the Mattagami route on September 5th. 
Here a boat was engaged and on September 7th Mr. 
Flaherty landed on Charlton Island. Not until the 
25th, however, did he succeed in making arrange- 
ments to sail to Fort George. Eight days of sailing 
brought him there. 

Further progress was now impossible. A long 
wait was necessary until traveling by dog team be- 
came practicable. Finally, on December 16th, Mr. 
Flaherty set out for Cape Jones with no white com- 
panion. At Cape Jones he engaged two Esquimaux 
and a team of nine dogs. Despite bad ice condi- 
tions, he made Great Whale, the most northerly 
Company post on the east coast of Hudson Bay, on 
Christmas night. Two days were spent here in ar- 
ranging with the half-breed in charge for another 
relay of Esquimaux and dogs. On New Years Day, 
Little Whale, an abandoned post, was sighted. It 
had taken five days to travel seventy miles. On 
January 4th Nastapoka Sound was reached. 

After making a seven days' examination of cer- 
tain of the Nastapoka Islands, Mr. Flaherty started 
on his return journey. While traveling with an 
Esquimaux family a short stop was made at Little 
Cape Jones. In the igloo of an Esquimaux entitled 
Husky Bill, a label much more pronounceable than 
the gentleman's native patronymic, Mr. Flaherty 
was astonished to see a very modern cross-section 
book. His curiosity was aroused. Upon inquiry he 

8 



114 Summer on Hudson Bay 

found out that the book belonged to Dr. C. K. Leith. 
Further he discovered that Dr. Leith 's dunnage bag 
had been picked up on the shore by Husky Bill's 
son near Little Cape Jones, after being exposed to 
the weather for some months. He found the notes, 
etc., in perfect condition. The contents comprised 
diaries, geological notes and sketches, six $50 drafts 
and $53 in cash. The Esquimaux gave up the pack 
without demur. 

Mr. Flaherty now proceeded south, getting to 
Fort George on January 23rd. Since leaving that 
post he had covered about six hundred miles under 
desperately adverse conditions. The actual time oc- 
cupied was five weeks, which period included all 
stops and delays. 

The return route to Moose Factory was made 
much longer than necessary, as the Esquimaux re- 
fused to travel directly to Moose on account of the 
deep snow; so it was possible only to strike out for 
Euperts House. An Indian dog-team was engaged 
here. Leaving Moose Factory on March 2nd, Mr. 
Flaherty arrived at Cochrane on March 14th. Thus 
between December 16th, 1910, and March 14th, 1911, 
he had covered nine hundred miles on ice and two 
hundred miles on land. 

The recovery of Dr. Leith 's manuscripts and note- 
books is an incident that reads like highly coloured 
fiction. No doubt that distinguished geologist had 
given up all hope of seeing his precious bag again. 
Incidentally the story affords a pleasant illustration 
of the honesty of the unsophisticated Esquimaux. 
Apart, however, from this accidental piece of luck, 
Mr. Flaherty's performance as a sub^Arctic trav- 
eler is unusually noteworthy,** 



Reward for Return of Notes 115 

It was a pleasure to be able to write the following 

letter: 

March 23rd, 1911. 
Eev. W. G. Walton, 

Fort George Post, Hudson's Bay Company, 
Via Cochrane, Ontario. 
Dear Mr. Walton: 

I am agreeably surprised to receive from Mr. 
Flaherty a draft for $53 for money found in my 
pack by Bill's son at Cape Jones. He also notifies 
me that my notes are being forwarded. They have 
not yet been received, but will probably come to 
hand in a few days. Mr. Aldridge also tells me about 
the finding of the notes, in a letter sent out by Fla- 
herty. Your letter of the same mail is of much in- 
terest to us. Your work, your people, and your 
country have interested us greatly, and we appre- 
ciate news from you. 

The finding and safe delivery of notes and cash 
on that barren coast are remarkable illustrations 
of the honesty of your people. The matter has 
attracted some little attention down here, and you 
will be pleased to hear the nice things said about 
the kind of people who would do a thing of this 
sort. It seems to me that your influence has had 
much to do with their attitude. As I have already 
charged up this money to profit and loss, I am re- 
turning same to you herewith in the form of an 
order on the Hudson's Bay Company and R. F. to 
be spent as you see fit. I suggest that the men 
actually concerned in finding the money be given 
some reward, and that the rest be spent through or 
for your church, but that the Eskimos be given to 
understand that it was their honesty that brought 
this gift. 

With kind regards, I am. 

Yours sincerely, 

C. K. Leith. 



116 Summer on Hudson Bay 

Return of Abandoned Equipment 

Mucli of our outfit was abandoned at Little Whale 
river at the time of our wreck (see p. 84). Ou No- 
vember 26, 1910, nearly fifteen months later, I re- 
ceived a letter from the Hudson's Bay Company, 
reading as follows: 

Hudson's Bay House, 1 Lime Street, 

London, E. C, 15 Nov., 1910. 
Dear Sir: 

I enclose debit note for 3s/6d for freight, etc., on 
one case, addressed to you per S. S. "Discovery." 

Please remit this sum and give instructions for 
forwarding at your early convenience. 

I promptly requested that the material be shipped 
me by freight and in due time received a box, packed 
exactly as we left it at the time of our wreck. The 
box contained some much desired specimens, two 
water-soaked cameras, dip needles, compasses, 
geological hammers, maps and geological reports, 
pencils, one bottle (glass) of drawing ink, etc. None 
of these were of any special value to us except the 
specimens. The itinerary of the box had been as 
follows: We had propped it on poles to escape the 
ravages of the foxes. There it remained until the 
following winter, when Eskimos passing there on 
their winter hunt took the box on a toboggan and 
returned with it in the spring to the post at Great 
Whale river, one hundred miles away. When Hud- 
son Bay opened up in summer the box was sent out 
with the post sailboat, on its annual trip, to the cen- 
tral supply depot of the Hudson's Bay Company on 
Charlton Island, four hundred miles distant. On ar- 



Recovery of Abandoned Equipment 117 

rival of the Hudson's Bay Company's steamer ''Dis- 
covery" from London the box was put aboard and 
carried to London. It reached me in Madison in 
January, 1911. It had traveled 7500 miles in at 
least five different types of conveyances at a cost 
to me of $1.20, which is somewhat lower than ex- 
press company rates. 

I have told elsewhere (p. 108) of having my pocket 
book containing twenty cents, which I dropped 
on a portage, picked up and carried two hundred 
miles and returned to me. This, to the extent of my 
knowledge, completes the list of things left or lost 
in the north country. Not one is now missing. 
Where else would such a thing be possible? 



PART II 
A WINTER ON HUDSON BAY 



PART II. 

A WINTER ON HUDSON BAY 

By a. T. Leith 

When it fell to the lot of Adams and myself to re- 
main at Great Whale Post to wait for the freeze-up, 
it seemed like a sentence to Siberia. There was but 
little to interest us and there were many things to 
worry about; so many in fact that we concluded to 
be optimistic and to enjoy our enforced stay if pos- 
sible. 

The first thing done was to secure the use of good 
guns and plenty of ammunition. Then the books 
and old magazines on hand were carefully arranged 
to be read at leisure. The old journals of this post 
and the abandoned Little Whale post were collected 
and later proved of great interest. 

Our first hunting was for geese. Some decoys 
and a blind were located about two miles north, and 
until the flight was over we were out every day 
possible. We had the honor to kill the first young 
wavey of the season, and the event was duly re- 
corded in the journal of the post. Not many geese 
were killed, as the main flight of birds passed out 
at sea, the prevailing winds not being favorable for 
flight along the coast. The partridge season began 
shortly after and afforded us increasing sport till 
we left at Christmas time. 

(121) 



122 Winter on Hudson Bay 

We were constantly on the alert for curios of the 
Indians or Eskimos, and the search for them over 
the old storehouses occupied many hours. 

It was necessary to obtain clothing suitable for 
cold weather, and the Eskimo women were busy for 
some time making us winter seal boots with hairy 
legs, moccasins, duffel socks, mittens, moleskin 
trousers, and leggings of stroud cloth. 

The prevailing wind was our first concern every 
morning; its force and direction largely determining 
our plans for the day. "We were fortunate in having 
Mr. L. G. Maver, the factor, as our host. He did 
everything in his power to make our visit comfort- 
able and enjoyable, and his courteous treatment is 
one of our most pleasant memories. 

An account of our daily life at the post for the 
month of November, 1909, is given from my diary. 
This is followed by a transcript from the journal of 
the post for the month of October, 1902, showing 
the affliction caused by an epidemic of measles, and 
this in turn followed by a record from the day 
journal of the abandoned post at Little Whale river 
during the big fox season of 1876-7. 

Diary for November, 1909. Great Whale Post 

Nov. 1. — S. E. wind. Cloudy with snow flurries. 
Went up river and put out three more traps. The 
boys went north with theirs. Harold's wife caught 
fifty one trout and shot at a hare. Matthews came 
over and cut Maver 's hair. Got what was left of 
my deer skin that was damaged while smoking, also 
a pair of mittens and a pair of moccasins. Rain in 
afternoon. Shot five partridges. The dogs were 



Great Whale 123 

tied up this morning on account of the setting of the 
fox traps. We are anxious for a good snow to come. 
The whereabouts of Kenneth and Koberts is a con- 
stant speculation with us. If they have been suc- 
cessful, they are on their way to the track from 
Moose. (Note. — This was a correct surmise as we 
found out later.) 

Nov. 2. — S. E. wind. Cloudy. Very mild. Adams, 
Maver, and John Meluktuk went north caribou 
hunting for three-day trip. The dogs do not like 
being tied up and at night make a great noise howl- 
ing. A Husky dog does not bark; he simply howls 
steadily in all keys. Read Sherlock Holmes. Did 
not leave the house, as it is not much use visiting 
the traps until there is snow. 

Nov. 3. — S. E. wind. Mild and cloudy. It rained 
all night and all day. Stayed in the house. Saw 
Harold's wife come in from hunting, with her gun 
on her shoulder like a man. The boys have struck 
a poor time for hunting caribou. I expected them 
to return today on account of the rain, but they 
failed to come. 

Nov. 4. — Strong northeast wind. Cloudy with 
snow flurries. Visited my traps at the north. Found 
the boys home on my return at noon. They saw no 
signs of deer, but many of foxes and partridges. 
They had a hard trip. Harold caught a cross fox 
this morning. The boys report seeing a white fox 
yesterday. 

Nov. 5. — Northwest wind. Visited my traps. No 
luck. Harold caught two red foxes; one in the trap 
where the cross fox was caught yesterday, and the 



124 Winter on Hudson Bay 

other over the river where he set a trap in a path 
without any bait. 

Nov. 6. — Strong northwest wind. Cloudy. Went 
north with Maver to see my traps there. Did not go 
up the river with Harold because the wind was too 
strong. John and Jim visited their traps, but 
caught nothing. Maver killed two partridges. 

Nov. 7. — Hard south wind with snow and a regu- 
lar blizzard at times. Rain in late afternoon and 
evening. We remained in the house all day reading. 

Nov. 8. — ^Very strong north wind, making the 
house shake constantly. Read old journals of Little 
Whale post. 

Nov. 9. — West wind. Mild. Visited traps on the 
bluff. No luck. A fox had visited one, however, 
and inspected it; evidently it did not suit him. The 
boys visited their traps and reported many signs. 
Harold got fourteen partridges. 

Nov. 10. — Went up river in a canoe with Harold 
to our traps. Got two muskrats, seven ermine from 
the marten traps, and a red fox; also a mouse, which 
the Indians say means good luck. Shot the musk- 
rats with a rifle on the way up. Set another fox trap 
on the bank of the river. Mild and thawing with 
no wind, so we must dress our traps again when 
snow comes. Saw many signs of foxes, but none of 
marten. 

Nov. 11. — South wind. Rain last night. Snow 
and ice thawing fast. Adams visited his marten 
traps, but caught only a squirrel. Harold is at home 
today on account of injury to his eye caused by the 
blowing out of the nipple of his gun. Paid cripple 




ESKIMO WOMAN, C.lll^AT WHALE 



Great Whale 125 

woman six and one-half beaver for making mocca- 
sins and mittens. This is a beautiful spring day. 

Nov. 12. — Northwest wind. Mild with some rain 
and snow. Colder in the evening. Visited three 
traps to the north. Shot one partridge. Got very- 
wet while out today. The boys stayed in on account 
of the rain. 

Nov. 13. — Northwest wind. Colder. Snow last 
night. "Went to my traps on the bluff and took along 
some stinking seal meat to rebait them. Saw a sil- 
ver fox. The boys went to their traps to the north. 
Got fresh water seal rug from Harold's wife. It is 
a pretty one; also my red fox skin from Harold and 
muskrats from John. Secured a small kayak, an 
Eskimo game, and a plate used in cleaning seal 
skins. I think I earned a silver fox today carrying 
that seal bait so far. It is horrible stuff. Saw many 
fresh fox tracks, some quite near the traps. Maver 
got seven partridges. 

Nov. 14. — Northwest wind. Mild. Took up my 
traps to the north and will put them out on the 
bluffs. Shot a partridge. 

Nov. 15 — East wind. Snowing. Colder. River 
full of ice and much ice along the shores. Maver 
across the river after partridges. Went on the bluff 
in the storm and put out three traps. Saw many 
fresh fox signs. John Meluktuk saw two red foxes 
today. Maver brought in three partridges, one a 
pintail, which is quite rare so far north. 

Nov. 16. — Northwest wind. Coldest morning we 
have had. River nearly closed with ice. Maver 
hitched up the dogs and hunted partridges, getting 
thirteen. He caught an ermine in one of his marten 



126 Winter on Hudson Bay 

traps. John and Jim hitched up a dog team and 
hauled wood. Today was the first day the dogs were 
harnessed. Put on snowshoes and walked on the 
plain. It was my first attempt. It was hard work. 

Nov. 17. — Cold. West wind. Took my first ride 
with the dog team, Maver driving. We had four 
dogs and went along nicely. Took snowshoes along 
and walked back on them about two miles. It was 
very slow walking. It seems to me impossible to 
cover 200 miles with them and I am worrying over 
it. Maver got nine partridges, Adams two. Or- 
dered another pair of duffel socks. 

Nov. 18. — Northwest wind. Visited traps on the 
hill, Maver going with me. Two traps had been 
visited by foxes. We shot three rock ptarmigan. 
Jimmy shot a red fox while visiting his traps today. 
Hit him in the eye while running. Harold's wife 
saw a red fox on the river bank here at the post. 
Maver shot at a big seal that was on the ice opposite 
the house. The cook called his attention to it. 
Harold stayed home today with a toothache. 

Nov. 19. — Cold. Northwest wind. Boys visited 
their traps at the north. Maver got a white fox. 
Bought a smoked caribou skin from Harold's wife. 
Walked up the beach with rifle and watched for 
foxes. Jimmy got a white fox today in his trap at 
Sandy Point. The river is closing fast, the channel 
now being very narrow. Several flurries of snow 
today. 

Nov. 20. — South wind. Maver visited his owl 
traps and shot four partridges. Harold's wife has 
good luck with her white owl traps. She catches 
one or more every day. We shot several times at a 



Great Whale 127 

big seal on the ice opposite the post. Harold and 
John finally went after it in a canoe, but missed it. 
Later they made a second trip and killed it. It was 
a large female, weighing about 600 pounds. The 
blubber was four inches thick. Length 7 feet, cir- 
cumference 6 feet. This seal means a feast for the 
Eskimos and the dogs, and about ten pairs of boots 
out of the skin. Harold and his wife both had on 
their furs today. The coat worn by his wife is elab- 
orately decorated and she is very proud of it. 

Nov. 21. — North wind. Almost a blizzard. At 
night the wind became very high and great snow 
drifts were piled up. We stayed in the house all 
day. Adams made some chocolate candy. 

Nov. 22. — Southwest wind. Colder. River frozen 
across at the post. It is open below here. Maver 
brought in six partridges. He found it very stormy 
and about all he could do to face the blizzard on 
the plain coming home. John gave me two fox 
skulls. 

Nov. 23. — Strong southwest wind. Visited my 
traps and found some bare and others under great 
drifts. No signs of foxes. 

Nov. 24. — Southwest wind. Maver, Harold, and 
Adams visited their traps. Maver got a fine white 
fox and Harold two red and one white fox. The sun 
dogs were out today for the first time. Harold's 
wife got six partridges, a hare, and forty trout. 

Nov. 25. — Thanksgiving day. Southeast wind 
blowing very hard. Last night the house shook con- 
tinually. Today it is cloudy. For our Thanks- 
giving dinner we had the arctic hare killed yester- 
day. This holiday is unknown here. Made arrange- 



128 Winter on Hudson Bay 

ments with Harold to go up the river tomorrow if 
the weather is favorable. Eead today a humorous 
story, inHarper's for 1896, about partridges so thick 
in New Jersey that corned beef became a luxury. 
That is what we have actually experienced here. 
We have had partridges three times a day for 
weeks, and I asked to have some tinned corned beef 
for a change. It was a luxury indeed. Although 
the author of that story gave his imagination free 
rein, it is strange that his flighty conception in our 
case becomes a fact. 

Nov. 26. — North wind. Not cold. Occasional 
snow flurries. The river is again open opposite the 
post and up for half a mile. Challa, the cook, is sick 
with something like pleurisy. We had to get our 
own breakfast. Harold gathered together the 
materials for twenty new dog harnesses. John 
caught a marten, but it ate its way out again. Or- 
dered a pair of worsted wristlets knit by the cripple 
woman. John brought me an ivory needle case and 
thimble holder he made. 

Nov. 27. — South wind. Mild. John and Jim went 
to their traps early. The boys took dog sleds to 
theirs also. Visited my traps and found nearly all 
bare, the hard winds having uncovered them. One 
trap was sprung and a fox had escaped. The trap is 
old and the spring weak. Saw many signs of foxes. 
Maver got a white fox and Harold a fine red one. 
Maver's fox had broken the chain and run off with 
the trap. They tracked it for a mile or more and 
found it dead, the trap having caught in a rock 
crevasse. Wm. Matthews got a red fox across the 
river. Harold's wife got six partridges, a hare, and 



Great Whale 129 

twenty- seven trout today. Harold got twenty trout 
also. 

Nov. 28. — Northwest wind. Snow last night. 
Drifting badly today. We had fine brook trout for 
breakfast. In the afternoon a fearful blizzard 
developed. The air was so filled with snow that one 
could see only a few feet and could not stand up 
against it at all. Was out for only a minute and 
got snow all over and through my clothes. This 
storm accounts for the flight of rock ptarmigan the 
past two days from the north. They were flying 
swiftly south and would not light. Our labor of 
yesterday trimming traps is all undone and we will 
not be likely to catch anything until they are 
trimmed again. Read "On the Face of the 
Waters, ' ' by Flora Annie Steel. 

Nov. 29. — Light north wind. Harold hitched up 
the dogs and we went up the river to our traps. We 
had a fine ride on the ice. One fox trap had been 
visited, but I am neither lucky nor skillful enough. 
Harold got two ermine. Found it very hard climb- 
ing the mountain on snowshoes in the soft snow. 
Stopped to rest many times and did not try to keep 
up with Harold. Ate a bushel more or less of snow 
and enjoyed it immensely. Maver killed seven par- 
tridges for the pot today. The foxes were running 
around a good deal during the storm last night. 
Harold is sure he has one in his traps at the north. 

Nov. 30. — Visited my traps on the bluffs, and 
found them all uncovered. Two were visited last 
night, but luck is against me. Maver, Adams, and 
Harold took the dog team for their line of traps. 
They found nearly all traps bare. Adams got a red 



130 Winter on Hudson Bay 

fox — his first colored one. Nocliti's two sons and a 
boy came in from the north with a 12-dog team. 
They brought in one silver, two cross, three white, 
five red foxes, and a lot of feathers. They called in 
the evening to pay their respects to Mr. Maver and 
give him the news. They report game very scarce 
and claim to be starving, but do not look it. Fox 
signs were very good until the late rain and warm 
weather, since which they have disappeared along 
with the ptarmigan. These Eskimos are good look- 
ing fellows. Maver has secured Harold's accordion 
and he plays us lively Scotch airs and Hudson Bay 
breakdowns. Wind today southeast, very strong at 
night. 

Dec. 1. — South wind. Mild and some rain. Found 
a couple of curios in the store. Got the moleskin 
trousers the Eskimo woman made for me. They 
are well made and promise comfort. Saw the silver 
fox brought in yesterday. It is beautiful. It is no 
wonder they bring fabulous prices. The boy that 
came in looks about 10 years of age, but Harold says 
he is at least 25. He is about 4 feet high and no 
larger than the 10-year-old girl at John's house. 
Watched the trading at the store. The Eskimos 
traded for flour, tea, tobacco, and matches princi- 
pally. Nochti sent for 15 pounds of tea. It has 
rained all day and our traps must be in bad shape. 
The Eskimo can not return till snow and colder 
weather comes. Maver got eight partridges today. 
Nochti 's son had a good caribou skin coat with 
fancy trimmings that Adams wanted to buy, but he 
refused to sell it. Ordered a pair of leggings cf 
stroud cloth with red ribbon trimmings. The supply 




ESKIMO WOMAN 



I 



Great Whale Journal 131 

of lime juice is nearly exhausted. We have become so 
used to a daily ration of it, that to go without will 
be real hardship. 

Records of October, 1902, Great Whale Post 

The following notes were copied from the log 
of the Hudson's Bay post at Whale river. The 
original spelling is retained. 

It will readily be seen from the following that an 
epidemic of measles is a great calamity in this 
region. Pneumonia and la grippe are equally fatal. 
Every one seems to be afflicted at once. Whole 
families are prostrated and numbers die while flee- 
ing from the scourge. The stories of these epidem- 
ics and the terribly high death rate, told by the 
traders and missionaries, are heartrending. 

Oct. 1, Wednesday. — Cloudy and blowing from 
west. David with me employed at boat building. 

Oct. 2, Thursday. — South wind. The boat came 
from Moose and Bill Fleming came back from hunt- 
ing. The boat crew are all on the sick list. Bill 
had to give them two of his men to help them bring 
the boat here today. If Bill had not helped them, 
the boat might have been delayed a long while. 
Harold being in charge of the boat, would not start 
this morning till Bill insisted on him to start. 

Mr. Maver, a clerk, just came out with the ship 
came passenger in the boat and is to stay here till 
winter mail goes south. He is to go to Rupert 
House with the packet. 

There were ten men in the boat with the clerk 
when she arrived here. Harold tuk Mukpella from 
the Cape as the crew was all getin bad up and two 



132 Winter on Hudson Bay 

Indians came in as passengers, one of them fel sick 
and the other worked his pashed hear. David with 
me employed at our boat building. 

Oct. 3, Friday. — Dull wind from the south side. 
Bill and Sanes, David and two Huskies and one of 
the Indians disbandin the boat from Moos. Bill 
and Sanes and John who went to hunt wavies gave 
in fifty-five in all. 

Oct. 4, Saturday. — Dull wet slet from South. All 
hands that was abell to work employed hauling up 
the big boat in her winter quarters. Harold and 
Samuel and three Indians on the sick list. Harold 
and Samuel just about over the worst part of the 
measels. But the three Indians seem to be bad. I 
am also sorry to say my daughter and Samuell's 
wife and little boy who was at Fort George is very 
ill in bed with the measels. 

Oct. 5, Sunday. — Blowing from west. One flock 
of wavies seen going north. 

Oct. 6, Monday. — Dull in the first part of the day. 
Snowing from north the groun all white with snow. 
David and Bill employ at varis jobs. 

Oct. 7, Tuesday. — Dull wind from the sout side. 
David and Bill as usual. Harold and Samuel and 
the four Indians still hard up with the measels and 
could. 

Oct. 8, Wednesday. — Blank. 

Oct. 9, Thursday. — ^Blowing and snowing from 
Nort West. David employed at varis jobs, all the 
rest of the hands hard up with could and measels. 
Sad to say my dear Maria who was at Fort George 
to see her brother came back in the boat must have 
chack could in the boat and had the measels and this 



Great Whale Journal 133 

Nit about 11 o'clock sorry to say that she has past 
away forever from this life. 

Oct. 10, Friday. — Fin at times a nother hard day 
for me. I had to make my dear dauter cofin in A. M. 
in P. M. we had the burial Mr. Maver read the 
Burial Sarvis. 

Oct. 15, Wednesday. — David Loutitt, his son and 
Mrs. Loutitt are not well so I keep his journal till 
he gets well again. Thomas Lameboy died last 
night of the measles. I had to dig the grave and 
Harold, Samuel and an Indian helped me to bury 
him though they are very weak yet. All the rest 
are very bad. I read the burial service. 

Oct. 16, Thursday. — Blowing fresh from N. W. 
A heavy shower of snow in the forenoon. All 
hands laid up yet. Samuel is a bit better. David 
about the same. 

Oct. 17, Friday. — Shore breeze from S. W. Pretty 
cold in the forenoon, but sun came out strong about 
noon and made the air a bit warmer. Harold and 
Samuel getting a bit better, but the rest much about 
the same. Bill's wife had a child born about a fort- 
night ago is now dead. The burial in the afternoon. 

Oct. 18, Saturday. — Dull and showery. Snow 
melting a bit today. Wind from south. The sick 
about the same as yesterday. 

Oct. 19, Sunday. — Fine mild day. Wind from the 
S. E. David a bit worse today. 

Oct. 20, Monday. — Another fine day with the wind 
from the north. The snow is melting. David was 
rather worse last night, but he feels much easier 
today. Bill and his family getting a bit better. 



134 Winter on Hudson Bay 

Oct. 21, Tuesday. — I am very sorry to say that 
the officer's house was completely burned down last 
night. It started in the kitchen and I happened to 
wake up and I thought I heard some wood crack- 
ling. I jumped out of bed and opened the mess 
room door and I met a volume of smoke coming out 
of the kitchen. I at once called to David there was 
a fire in the kitchen and as he came down I ran up 
to the men's house and called Harold and Samuell. 
They came down at once and Harold and I went 
round the back and got the ladder there and took 
it round to the front window, where we got Mrs. 
Loutitt and two little girls and a servant out of the 
room and took them up to the men's house. David got 
his hand burned slightly. The smoke was very 
strong then and we at once started to get the books 
out of the office. We got most of them out, and 
David said to get the things out of the store for fear 
it would catch fire. We took all the foxes out and 
some bags of flour and other necessaries. We took 
the cartridges and put them in the oil house along 
with the other things. The wind was blowing away 
from the store which was a good thing for it. The 
house burned very quickly, but we had to watch it 
all night. We didn't save anything belonging to 
David, which is a great pity. This morning Bill, 
Harold, Samuel and myself took the things out of 
the oil house and put them back in the store. 
Samuel's wife had a child about three weeks ago 
and it died this forenoon. 

Oct. 22, Wednesday. — Blowing strong from the 
sea. Peter Kapeal died about noon and we buried 
him in the afternoon. It is drifting very hard. 



Great Whale Journal 135 

Oct. 23, Thursday. — The sick are a little better 
today. Harold, Samuel and Nabuktuk employed in 
the forenoon taking out the bags of flour in the 
barrel shed down to the store. Moses and boy and 
Mukipella go to-morrow and they got their rations 
this afternoon. 

Oct. 24, Friday. — Wind from the east this morn- 
ing but it was blowing too hard so Moses could not 
start. In the afternoon it shifted to the north and is 
still blowing strong. Harold and Samuel dug up 
some dog meat today. David is better. 

Oct. 25, Saturday. — Strong wind from the N. W. 
Moses cannot get away yet. Two north Eskimos 
came in last night and they had six white foxes. They 
got squared this morned and left at once. They say 
there is very good signs of foxes this year. Got 
thirty fish out of the nets today. 

Oct. 26, Sunday. — Fine day with wind from S. W. 
Moses, Mukipella and boy started this morning. 
I am very sorry to say that David passed away to- 
night about ten o'clock. He had been pretty bad 
yesterday and towards evening his breathing 
became difficult, but I had no idea he was going to 
pass away. 

Oct. 27, Monday. — ^We made David's coffin this 
forenoon and the burial was in the afternoon. The 
Eskimo woman Mikalis died about noon. We buried 
her after poor David. Saw a seal in the river. 

Oct. 28, Tuesday. — Fine day with north wind. 
Harold, Samuel, Bill's son and Nabuktuk employed 
digging up the dog's meat. The sick are getting 
better now. 



The Great Fox Year 137 

wolverine got today (i.e., during last night and 
today). Self two, Swanson four, Moses three, 
Adam two, David four and a wolverine. 

Nov. 3, Friday.— Wind N. W. Showers of snow 
at intervals. Adam contined to the house with a 
sore back, the other three chopping wood at the 
island. Self got a white fox today. Four of the 
Gulf Eskimos came in this afternoon and report 
foxes pretty numerous. Served out men's winter 
allowance this afternoon. 

Nov. 4, Saturday.— Blowing a gale from south- 
west and snowing nearly all day. Moses at the wood 
pile and David and Swanson hunting; former five 
and latter three partridges. Adam still unable to 
work. Eskimos went back. Self got a blue fox and 
three partridges, David a cross fox, and four white; 
Swanson two white, Adam one red and one white, 
Moses one white; total eleven today. 

Nov. 5, Sunday. — Wind west, a regular snow 
storm all day; a great quantity of slush in the river. 

Nov. 6, Monday. — Wind southwest. Snow show- 
ers at intervals. Adam cooking for the dogs, the 
other three up the island chopping wood. Self and 
Mr. Peck* went across the river. Got eight par- 
tridges, and a white fox from traps. I lost another 
white fox; left its leg in the trap. David five white 
foxes. 

Nov. 7, Tuesday. — Blowing a gale of southeast 
wind all day. Self and Adam went across the river 
to hunt; only got two partridges each. I got a 

* ^Ir. Peck was the first missionary to the Eskimos. Tie is no\%- 
in Baffiu Land. 



138 Winter on Hudson Bay 

white fox. The other three men hunting. David 
got eleven partridges, Swanson none, Moses four 
partridges. One of the dogs had to be shot on 
account of his being caught in one of Swanson 's 
traps; one of his hind feet came off. David four 
white and one cross fox. 

Nov. 8, Wednesday. — Light southwest wind and 
cloudy. Self and Adam went across to hunt. I got 
nine partridges and four white foxes; Adam seven 
partridges; David twenty partridges and five white 
and red foxes; Swanson four white and shot two 
white foxes; Moses sixteen partridges. 

Nov. 9, Thursday. — Wind southwest. Snowing 
and drifting all day. David repairing the stove for 
kitchen, the other three at the wood pile. Self got 
ten white and one blue fox. David got eleven white 
foxes. 

Nov. 10, Friday. — Blowing strong from the south- 
west all day. Self visited my traps and got nine 
white and two blue from the traps and shot nine 
white. Total for me today twenty. David got 
seventeen white. Adam six. 

Nov. 11, Saturday. — Wind southeast. Mild. In 
the afternoon men hunted foxes across the river. 
David got fourteen, Swanson eight, Adam three, 
self eleven, all white foxes. 

Nov. 12, Sunday. — East wind. Mild. The men 
were across at their traps this morning and got fifty 
white foxes between them. David shot a goose in 
the river today. 

Nov. 13, Monday. — Snowing. Self and Snowboy 
across the river. I got eighteen white foxes and 



The Great Fox Year 139 

Snowboy three. David got eleven foxes this 
morning. 

Nov. 14, Tuesday.— Blowing a gale from the west 
all day. Snowing and drifting. Men variously 
employed in the A. M., and in the P. M. they went 
across the river to look after their traps along the 
shore. David lost one trap by the high tide last 
night. Moses brought five white foxes from my 
traps. They got thirty between them. Etualuk and 
Pootooalook's boys came in this evening for ammu- 
nition. 

Nov. 15, Wednesday.— The wind and weather con- 
tinued same as yesterday. Men's employment much 
the same. Went across the river in the afternoon 
with the men to the traps. Got twenty-four foxes 
between them. Self nine, David seven, Moses five, 
Swanson two and Adam one, all white. The river 
full of slush this evening. Set fox trap at the bend 
of the river. 

Nov. 16, Thursday.— A fine clear cold day, with 
wind from southwest. David and Adam went 
across the river on the ice this morning. They got 
four white foxes from my traps. David got thirty 
for himself and Adam sixteen. Swanson hunting 
partridges only got four. He got one silver, one red 
and two white. Moses got no partridges. He got 
six white foxes. 

Nov. 17, Friday.— Wind east. Snowing and 
drifting at intervals. David and Adam hunting 
partridges. David got six and Adam none. Swan- 
son and Moses at the wood pile. Self went across 
the river on the ice to my traps. Got thirteen white 
foxes; shot nine and got four in my traps. 



140 Winter on Hudson Bay 

Nov. 18, Saturday. — ^A fine clear day with light 
northeast wind. The men variously employed 
about the place. In the afternoon we went across 
the river in the canoe. David got eight foxes, 
Moses ten; Adam two; Swanson and self got thirty- 
four white foxes. Shot twenty-six and trapped 
eight. 

Nov. 20, Monday. — Wind southeast. Weather 
cloudy and mild. The men employed stretching and 
skinning foxes. Two F. G. Indians came in yester- 
day for ammunition and went off again today. They 
report furs scarce inland and no deer or partridges. 
Some of the Gulf Eskimo came in this evening for 
ammunition. They are killing a great many foxes. 
I got twenty- six white foxes today, shot twenty and 
trapped six. Out of nine foxes left away at my 
traps, five were eaten by other foxes. 

Nov. 21, Tuesday. — Light southerly wind. Snow 
in the morning and in the afternoon commenced 
raining, the men's emplojTnent much the same as 
yesterday. Mukpella and Aquina's boy went off, 
the two women still at the place. South at my traps, 
got thirteen white foxes; shot four and trapped 
nine. 

Nov. 22, Wednesday. — Weather still mild. David 
sick, the others making stretchers and skinning 
foxes; self got six white foxes. 

Nov. 23, Thursday. — Weather still mild and 
sloppy; David mending a sail; Adam and Moses 
in the carpenter shop skinning and stretching foxes. 
Swanson hunting partridges, but got none. Self 
went across to my traps and got eight white foxes 
in the traps, and shot eleven white and one blue fox; 



The Great Fox Year 141 

total twenty. The men get foxes morning and even- 
ing so I can keep no track of the number they get. 

Nov. 24, Friday. — Wind westerly. Snowing a 
little and weather a good deal colder than for some 
time back. Gave Moses a day to hunt for himself, the 
others variously employed about the place. Self 
at my traps; got three foxes in the traps and shot 
two. All white. The traps were all frozen and 
would not strike. Not many signs of foxes today. 

Nov. 25, Saturday. — Weather dull, with light 
easterly winds. Men putting floor in provision shop 
and sundry other jobs about the place. Chimney 
and stove pipe cleaned this morning. Self went 
across to my traps got forty-one white foxes; 
trapped fifteen and shot twenty-six. 

Nov. 27, Monday. — A fine clear day with east 
winds. Swanson and Moses chopping wood at the 
pile. David putting out double doors in the kitchen, 
etc. Adam on the sick list. Self visiting my traps, 
got twelve foxes out of my traps, and shot three; 
total fifteen. 

Nov. 28, Tuesday. — Blowing a regular gale of 
northwest wind and drifting dreadfully all day. 
David mending and fixing up the dog harness, the 
other three men on the sick list. Self visiting my 
traps, got nine foxes. I could not set any of my 
traps on account of the weather. 

Nov. 29, Wednesdaj^ — The same stormy weather 
still continues. David, Moses and Adam variously 
employed indoors. Swanson still on the sick list. 

Nov. 30, Thursday. — A fine day with a little light 
snow occasionally. Swanson hunting got twelve 
partridges. Adam eight. David fixing up old liar- 



142 Winter on Hudson Bay 

ness. Moses in the carpenter shop working at 
foxes. Self at my traps; got five white foxes out of 
my traps, and shot fourteen white, one blue; total 
twenty. 

Dec. 1, Friday. — A very mild day with light east 
wind. David and Moses employed as yesterday, the 
other two hunting. Swanson got fourteen par- 
tridges, Adam six. Self went across the river to my 
traps and got nineteen foxes, twelve out of my traps 
and shot seven all white. I now have three hundred 
and one. Waneskum and Cootawaganesh going to 
start if weather is fine for G. W. R. to-morrow. 

Dec. 2, Saturday. — The wind and weather much 
as yesterday. Swanson and Adams putting wood 
into porches. David and Moses hunting. Former 
got seven and latter six partridges and one Eskimo 
duck. Self visiting my traps got twelve white foxes; 
nine in my traps and shot three. 

Dec. 3, Sunday. — The wind and weather still 
much the same. Amastoo, Salby, and Neveakshie 
came in this evening. They brought five white foxes 
out of my traps and four out of David 's. 

Dec. 4, Monday. — A regular gale of southwest 
wind and drifting very hard all day. David harness 
making. Swanson working in the provision shop 
at salt fish, cleaning and re-salting some that were 
spoiled. Moses in carpenter shop stretching foxes. 
Adam on the sick list. 

Dec. 5, Tuesday. — Wind northeast. Cold. David 
as before. Moses re-salting fish. Adam still sick. 
Swanson hunting, got eleven partridges. Eskimo 
went off. Self visiting my traps, got six foxes. 



The Great Fox Year 143 

Dec. 6, Wednesday. — Blowing a gale from south- 
west. David harness making. The others stretch- 
ing foxes. Self visiting traps, got eight white foxes. 

Dec. 7, Thursday. — Blowing pretty fresh from 
west until noon, when it freshened up to a gale and 
drifted dreadfully. Men's employment same as yes- 
terday. Self went across to my traps and got twelve 
white foxes. 

Dec. 8, Friday. — Blowing and drifting hard from 
west. This evening the river all fast and no open 
water to be seen outside the points anywhere. Men 
employed the same. Wosatagabuno and wife came 
in with a little fresh venison to trade. Self visiting 
my traps in the morning, got nine white and a dam- 
aged blue one. 

Dec. 9, Saturday. — A fine day, nearly calm. 
Crossed the river opposite oil house today. David 
and Moses hunting for themselves today. Swanson 
and Adam hunting for the company. Swanson only 
five partridges and Adam seventeen. Self got seven 
partridges and fifteen white foxes; twelve from 
traps and shot three. 

Dec. 11, Monday. — Blowing and drifting hard all 
day from southeast. Cold. Thermometer fifteen 
degrees this A. M. David fixing up harness. Swan- 
son trimming the wood sled. Moses and Adam 
chopping wood. A couple of Eskimo from Second 
river arrived with a sleigh and team of dogs on the 
ice late this evening. Self visited my traps and got 
eight white foxes; trapped six and shot two. 

Dec. 12, Tuesday. — Wind still from same quarter, 
but not so hard and weather not so cold as yester- 
day. David and Swanson commenced hauling out 



144 Winter on Hudson Bay 

length wood from the island. Moses path-making- 
and Adam cooking for the dogs. Self at traps, got 
thirteen white foxes. 

Dec. 13, Wednesday. — Light north wind; clear. 
David and Swanson as yesterday. Moses visited 
my traps and got five white foxes. This morning at 
nine o'clock Mrs. Clark gave birth to a boy, and 
both mother and child doing well. 

Dec. 14, Thursday. — Wind and weather as yester- 
day. Teamsters as before. Self visited my traps, 
got three white foxes, which makes exactly four 
hundred for myself up to this date. 

Dec. 15, Friday. — Fine, clear day. Teamsters still 
employed. Moses hunting, got one hare. Some of 
the Gulf Eskimos arrived this morning. I went 
across the river for a cross fox Mr. Peck seen in 
one of my traps. 

Dec. 16, Saturday. — I went to my traps today and 
got nothing, the first time I got nothing this winter. 

Dec. 29, Friday. — I went across the river to visit 
my traps and got two white foxes, both three-legged 
ones. 

March 22. — There are more foxes now at this 
place than ever before. Bully for L. W. R. 

(Written in red ink.) 

April 6. — ^Between us, self and four servants, we 
have five silver, nine cross, fifteen red, eleven blue, 
one thousand two hundred thirty-five white foxes, 
the best hunt ever made by the servants at this 
place. 

April 28. — Over nine thousand white foxes now 
on hand. 



The Philosopher 145 

We heard constantly from the natives many 
references to a season long ago when foxes were 
very numerous and wonderful stories are told about 
experiences at that time. Since reading the fore- 
going account we have not doubted any of them. 
Nero, for instance, told of himself and another 
Eskimo catching fifty foxes in one night with only 
three traps. These were set near their igloo and 
when they heard a trap spring they came out, got 
the fox, and reset the trap. At times that year the 
foxes were so numerous and ravenous that the 
Eskimos became afraid of them. 

Harold Udgarden, Philosopher 

Each post has a couple of servants, one of whom 
is interpreter, foreman and an understudy of the 
factor. Chief among those on Hudson Bay are 
McLeod of Moose, Luittitt of Fort George, and 
Harold Udgarden of Great Whale. Four mouths of 
intimate association with Harold served only to 
increase our fondness for him. Harold is very ver- 
satile. He kills more partridges than any other 
hunter, catches more fish, traps more foxes, chops 
more wood, in fact is one of the indispensables of 
the line. 

He is a philosopher. Part of his philosophy is his 
own and part he has absorbed from the Indians and 
Eskimos. He knows why the geese migrate, why 
partridges are wild or tame, why a husky dog howls 
instead of barks, and what the weather will be the 
following season. He never catches a fox when he 
expects to, so he limits his expectations. If he 
dreams of catching a red fox, he is sure of a white 

10 



146 Winter on Hudson Bay 

one, or if he has a nightmare or dreams of death 
there is sure to be a fox in one of his traps anxiously 
waiting for him. He doesn't mind how many traps 
are set near his, as a fox intended for him is immune 
from any trap but his. This is primitive fore- 
ordination and resembles the Indian belief shown 
by the talk always made to a bear in a trap. The 
bear is told that the hunter is sorry to find him there 
but must kill him, for if he were not intended for the 
hunter he would not be in that trap. Harold has 
had one trap set in the same place for twenty years 
and has not yet caught a fox in it. He will not con- 
sider changing its location, as it is a good place, he 
reasons, and ought to catch a fox. It preys on his 
mind if he does not visit and trim this trap regu- 
larly, and he has been known to get up in the night 
to go to it when he has been especially negligent. 
He also has a theory that a trapper should walk 
only on one side of a trap. 

Harold has a secret preparation to put on the bait 
in his marten traps. The first year he tried it was a 
poor year for marten and it was not a success. The 
next year was a good year and it worked wonders. 
It is always successful in good years, and he pre- 
pares it with great care and uses it every year, 
secretly pitying the poor trappers who try to catch 
marten without it. 

As captain of the big boat he goes to Fort George 
every year for supplies for the post. He has made 
this trip for twenty-five years and knows the course 
perfectly, yet he always insists on having a pilot. 
Sometimes a pilot is hard to get and delay is caused, 



The Philosopher 147 

but Harold is obdurate. He does not propose to 
break an established custom. 

Harold never misses a seal. He doesn't get every 
seal he shoots at, but he is sure he always "hits it 
between the eyes." His best shooting is always done 
when hunting alone. It hurts his feelings when there 
is anyone present to see him miss a flock of geese 
looming up like a flock of airships. He never admits 
he made a poor shot; his gun was not clean or the 
wads were poor, most likely. 

He is unwilling to acknowledge his wife's ability. 
She shoots partridges because they are so tame and 
numerous that a miss is an impossibility. If she 
traps a hare or a fox, it is a joke — the animal must 
have been sick. He admits she can trap white owls; 
that requires no skill. As to fishing, somehow she is 
favored by sunny or cloudy days, and of course the 
trout bite. 

Harold claims to have trapped a silver fox every 
year and sometimes several. Once he got two in 
one day. He stands on that record and challenges 
all comers. Once there was a cross fox asleep on 
the opposite bank of the river a mile away. It was 
a windy day and he had only a low-power rifle. He 
took advantage of a particularly strong gust of 
wind and fired, killing the fox. Another time on a 
cold day he saw a red fox running on the ice a half 
mile away. He fired and missed, but the bullet 
broke off a i^iece of ice that flew and broke the fore- 
legs of the fox and he got it. You cannot doubt these 
stories because he always tells you the kind of fox 
and the prevailing weather. 



148 Winter on Hudson Bay 

His best days for hunting are days before it rains 
and days following rainy days; windy days; calm 
days; warm days; cold days; clear days and cloudy 
days. There is a reason for each one. 

Harold's favorite game is checkers, which he and 
William Matthews play on a large board with 
several hundred squares and nearly as many 
checkers. Moves similar to those of chess are made 
and allowed without question. 

Like philosophers generally, Harold is very plain- 
spoken if he thinks the occasion requires it. He 
looms up at such times to his full six feet plus. For 
instance, do not talk to him of ''beaver!" Say 
rather "dollars and cents," as "beavers are only 
for Huskies and Indians." 

Harold *s wife has a fuschia and a geranium which 
she has successfully nursed through several winters. 
As she has no children she devotes all the time 
necessary for their preservation. They were pres- 
ents from Eev. Walton, but where or how he 
obtained them we did not learn. We think they 
must have cost many long prayers. We were 
reminded of Jacob Eiis's description of the "loved- 
up" flowers of Denmark. 

Foxes that are too smart to be trapped, caribou 
that are shy, partridges that are wild, geese that 
fly high, and fish that will not bite are "beggars" 
in Harold's philosophy. They are his chief worries, 
and will continue to annoy him until he goes to the 
great happy hunting ground. 



The Cook 149 

Challa, the Cook 

A source of never-ending delight was Challa, the 
cook and housekeeper at Great Whale. Challa is 
purely feminine and Eskimo. An effort to take her 
picture met with failure because she was asked to 
pose with Izzataluk, whom she did not consider as 
suitably dressed for the occasion. Challa prides 
herself on her good looks, and Izzataluk, at the time 
mentioned, was carrying water, with a shoulder bar 
from which hung two buckets, to be filled from the 
river, so she gave us an Eskimo imitation of a 
woman highly insulted. It is said she was one of 
Bill's wives before he was converted. 

It never occurred to her to wash the clothes or 
mix the bread standing on her feet. She sat on the 
floor to work and eat, and did not need to change 
her position when she wanted to rest, thus saving 
time that she had no possible use for after saving. 

She used to bake intermittently. To be from a 
day to a week without bread was a frequent occur- 
rence. She could not understand our objections. 
Why should we want bread every day? Having 
three people instead of one to cook for was too great 
a task for her, so Izzataluk or Effalaluk helped pluck 
the partridges and play the harmonica. ''Peow" 
(partridges) she cooked three times daily — a bird 
for each of us each meal. Sometimes for breakfast 
there was an addition of **Nemess" (fish). A hot 
bird was always ready no matter what time a 
hunter returned, and one of my pleasantest memor- 
ies is Challa 's announcing 'Himack" (ready) with 
a pleasing intonation and broad smile. 



150 Winter on Hudson Bay 

She never learned to set the table. If she remem- 
bered the plates, she forgot the knives and forks; 
if she brought in the tea, she forgot the cups. Her 
surprise each time her attention was called to tliese 
errors was delightful. It became a daily pleasure to 
remind her of an oversight, so childlike and charm- 
ing was her confusion. 

She showed temper occasionally, as cooks some- 
times do, and in a way that no civilized cook has 
improved on, yet there was no danger of her leaving 
or being discharged. She had a union all her own. 
There was no one to take her place, and no place 
for her to go. She might strike for higher wages, 
but wages and money are beyond her comprehen- 
sion, and she does not realize how much she earns 
and that the company is in her debt. An effort has 
been made several times to enlighten her, but she 
cannot understand the situation. When she desires 
new clothes, she asks for them and is delighted to 
receive them as a gift. If she but knew it, she could 
buy a dress of every pattern in the store and still 
have credit left. 

Her kitchen was kept neat and clean, and was 
used also as a reception room. She received sitting 
on the floor and her callers arranged themselves 
about her. It was the Eskimo salon. The hours 
were from early morning till late at night and all 
subjects were discussed, from the making of a new 
caribou coat to the picture of a flying machine. 

She was rather late in getting up in the morning 
and liked to have the fire built first. Why any hour 
for breakfast was not suitable perplexed her. Sev- 
eral times Maver threatened to let her alone and see 



The Dog Driver 151 

how late she would sleep, but the rest of us objected 
to such an endurance test. 

We were loth to leave Challa and the partridges. 
They cheered and sustained us during our long stay, 
but that she is happier without her boarders we do 
not for a moment doubt. We interfered too much 
with her social duties, and her prestige was at 
stake, 

John Meluktuk, Dog Driver 

John Meluktuk, driver of the dog team at Whale 
River, lives in the fox-drying house at the post. He 
has a wife named Overmuk and five children as fol- 
lows: Mickpiuk, daughter; Mickkiuk, Izzatuk, Sup- 
pa, and Kappa, sons. '^ Jim" Yukamak, his mother, 
Kutteruk, and Eifalaluk, a young woman, also live 
in the same house. There is only one room 14x20 
feet for all, but ordinarily they seem very comfort- 
able. When the Eskimos come in to trade this 
house is general headquarters and sleeping room is 
often at a premium. John is a handy man with a 
needle and always carries a kit with him ready to 
mend clothes, boots, or harness as necessary. He 
talks Cree but not English, although he understands 
much that is said. Many Eskimos can talk the Cree 
language, but we did not see one Indian who could 
talk Eskimo. John has a remarkable sense of loca- 
tion and when out hunting with others is the one 
depended upon to find the way home. If there is a 
difference of opinion as to direction, John's choice 
settles the matter and he is invariably correct. His 
knowledge of ice is phenomenal. Neither white man 
nor Indian would venture on ice John called unsafe. 



152 Winter on Hudson Bay 

Somehow, we can not disassociate John and Chu- 
lumluk, the leader of the Whale River dog team. 
John and Chum had a secret understanding, but it 
did not prevent John from occasionally beating the 
dog until he was nearly unconscious. Kindness 
plays but a small part in the care of a Husky dog. 
The whip is relied upon. John talked often and 
long to Chulumluk and was understood perfectly. 
We are not sure but what Chulumluk talked also, 
although we never caught him doing it. Whenever 
John gave a command Chulumluk would turn 
around and look at him and then obey, sometimes 
reluctantly, as if he resented the command as being 
a reflection on his intelligence. One night, on our 
way to Moose, Chulumluk ate his harness and then 
filled up on seal meat. That hurt John's pride; he 
did not expect such a thing of his leader. Chum 
was sick, of course, and could not pull the sled for 
days, but John feigned indifference and showed no 
sympathy. An Eskimo, a Husky dog, and a seal have 
many characteristics in common. They have lived 
together long and intimately. An Eskimo crying 
sounds like the howl of a Husky dog, and the man- 
ner of curling up and going to sleep after eating is 
common with all. 

Bill, the Unlucky 

At Fort George we had difficulty in securing a 
guide. Finally a Husky was engaged who agreed to 
take us as far as ''Bill's," somewhere near Cape 
Jones, and we carried a letter in syllables from Rev. 
Walton to Bill asking him to join our party as guide 
to Richmond Gulf. Bill was found in his summer 



Bill, the Unlucky 153 

camp about fifteen miles from Cape Jones, opposite 
Long Island, and came aboard with Nepacktuk and 
a small sack containing Ms outfit. He was a surprise 
to us, being neatly dressed, speaking good English 
and appearing anything but a native Eskimo. So 
much for missionary effort and civilizing influences. 
Immediatel}^ his foot touched the deck he was 
Captain Bill of the Minnie. We liked Bill from the 
start and after the next night, when he took us into 
Great Whale River near midnight in a thick fog, 
were willing to trust him implicitly. 

Bill was born near Richmond Gulf over fifty years 
ago. How much over neither he nor his wife appar- 
ently knows. He varies the figures at least once a 
week, alternately growing older or younger, accord- 
ing as he feels or forgets. From the old records of 
Little Whale post we learned that in 1875 Bill's 
mother interviewed the factor about having a boy 
engaged as servant by the Company. Shortly after- 
ward she brought Bill and he was engaged ' ' as long 
as his services were required and his behavior 
good." This proved to be twenty-seven years, and 
accounts for his training, Scotch accent, and 
acquired traits. 

Bill is a neighbor of Jim Crow, Ackperuk and 
Nepacktuk, on Cape Jones, and is the best informed 
Husky on the coast. He lives on Cape Jones because 
he is unlucky. He has no business there what- 
ever, but it is just his luck. Like most unlucky 
men Bill couldn't live on his salary, so he let the 
salary go and took up the free life of a hunter, 
taking his luck with him. An unlucky man never 



154 Winter on Hudson Bay 

has any good luck. "If it is not one damn thing, it 
is another," Maver said, and it looks that way. 

Our first sample of Bill's luck was encountering 
that fog going into Great Whale near midnight. 
Then the night following we camped in a beautiful 
spot on Bill of Portland Island. Wood and water 
were plentiful and the shelter seemed perfect. That 
night our tents were blown down by a wind that 
came straight down trying to locate Bill. The next 
day we tried to go through Boat Opening from 
Manitounuk Sound to the Bay. We were about five 
or ten minutes too late. The tide was such that we 
missed it by only a few feet and were forced to camp 
over night, losing a half day of good sailing 
weather. It was no fault of Bill's; only another 
sample of his luck. Another day's fair wind brought 
us to Eichmond Gulf — just brought us there and 
that was all. For a week following there was a dead 
calm, and we could not sail into the Gulf through 
the dangerous passage. We thought we were hoo- 
dooed, but it was poor Bill again. Then we drifted 
north to Gillis Island and tried twice to get away 
before succeeding. Running back ten miles we 
camped on the mainland near Salmon river in a 
harbor protected on every side but one. During the 
night a great storm came, of course from the exposed 
side; the tents were blown down, and the boat 
dragged anchor and was in great danger of being 
driven on the rocks. Bill, Nepacktuk, and two Eski- 
mos undertook to save the boat, and the result was 
that Nepacktuk and one Eskimo were left on the 
boat all day at the mercy of the waves, while Bill 
and his friend unluckily got swamped in going 



■:% 



"Si 



Bill, the Unlucky 155 

through the breakers to the island opposite and 
had to swim for it. Bill says he never learned to 
swim. Perhaps he never did. The water is so cold 
and the Eskimo's antipathy so great that not many 
natives do. An interesting point to be settled, how- 
ever, is. Does an Eskimo swim naturally without 
learning or previous effort, like a duck or seal ? 

We might have doubted Bill occasionally, but we 
never did. He was too religious, holding special 
services every night and Sunday. 

Bill dearly loved a "snack." One was no sooner 
disposed of than he was ready for another. He 
always knew what food there was, where it could be 
found, and the amount of his share. Tobacco, 
matches, and sugar he demanded every day and got 
them too. He asked for them so often it was a 
delight to give them to him and wonder how he dis- 
posed of them all. He smoked continuously when 
awake or only half asleep and never to our obser- 
vation was lucky enough to light his pipe with the 
first match, and barely with the first box. He would 
have done better with a brand from the fire, but that 
was too primitive and not fashionable in company. 
He was well trained, acted his part, and liked to 
see everyone else do the same, so he reminded us 
that our clothes were not up to the dignity of 
''oochamows." Bill was right. We had ceased to 
care for appearances and supposed no one else 
cared. After that we tried to fix up so that he would 
not be ashamed to own us and introduce us to his 
friends along the coast. We found no fault with 
Bill's friends. They were good to us and helped 
all in their power whenever necessary. We gave 



156 Winter on Hudson Bay 

them all the clothes we could spare, because they 
needed them badly, and Bill did the same, dividing 
up like a true Eskimo. 

Whiling away time at the Gulf, Bill told us his 
troubles. It was a poor year for foxes when he left 
the Company for the Opposition. He got little fur, 
unluckily, and his debt was large. He needed more 
supplies. He was refused at Great Whale. He went 
to Fort George and was refused again. His family 
required food, and he went to the French Company 
for it and has dealt with them ever since. The 
Opposition has treated him well, but Bill was a 
servant of the Hudson's Bay Company so long that 
his conscience troubles him. He feels that he was 
harshly dealt with, yet he will not be contented 
again on earth till he returns to his old allegiance. 

Bill was unlucky when he promised Gillis of the 
Hudson's Bay Company the first fox he caught in 
return for some favor received. He meant well, but 
the fox happened to be a silver fox and the factor 
of the Opposition heard of Bill's promise. Bill had 
received a large advance, and the factor insisted on 
receiving that fox. Bill wanted to keep his word 
and please both sides by promising more silver 
foxes. This would not satisfy. The unlucky result 
was that Gillis was angry because he lost the fox, 
and the Frenchman annoyed because Bill wanted to 
keep his word even if it were a silver fox. 

Then the measles came. This was his worst ex- 
perience. He found the boat tied up and the crew 
all sick and he helped them to get home. He knew 
nothing of quarantine nor of the germ theory of 
disease. He did the best he could but caught the 



Bill the Unlucky 157 

measles, as did his wife and babe only a few days 
old. The other children also took sick. Bill lost 
three children, and one other— a boy, the oldest and 
most helpful— was left partially deaf and totally 
blind. Bill has only one exclamation for disap- 
pointment, wonder, or grief. He used it: "By 
cracky, I had a hard time." 

It delighted Bill to interpret to the Eskimos what 
we told him of the pictures in the magazines. Some- 
times they eyed Bill as if they thought he was inter- 
preting unfairly, but not often, as his frequent 
expression of "By cracky" seemed to be intelligible 
to them and carried conviction with it. 

When the northwest gale caught us, why did not 
Bill run into Little Whale river barely a mile short 
of where he did try to make shelter? We do not 
know and have been unable to find out. Probably 
his luck made him run by. He ran the boat in where 
he wished — a nice bit of work it was, too — but an 
unlucky spirit would not let him anchor. He tried 
to turn and seek a better harbor. He should have 
stood pat and never batted an eyelash, like a doctor 
who has made a mistake. The patient doesn't know, 
and if the doctor keeps still, never will know. 

When the Minnie struck the rocks and was 
wrecked. Bill's reputation as a sailor among liis 
Eskimo friends was completely lost. His consuming 
ambition to be captain of a boat trading with the 
Belcher Islands can now never be realized. 

Bill told us the largest man he ever saw was an 
Eskimo. He has seen some good-sized white men and 
Indians in his time, so this Eskimo was a very large 



158 Winter on Hudson Bay 

man. We heard others speak of large Eskimos, so 
maybe Bill's story is no myth. 

Then there was a man who ate ten partridges at a 
meal. He lived at Great Whale once upon a time. 
For a long time that story was too much for us. We 
did not believe ten partridges could be secured for 
cooking at one time, and if they were, one man could 
not eat them without a surgical operation. It was 
unlucky for Bill we did not meet him on our way 
out as we wished to assure him his story was 
undoubtedly true. The partridges were numerous 
and tame later, and we could nearly duplicate the 
eating feat ourselves. 

Bill was sleeping when the first flock of geese 
passed flying south. He immediately sat up and 
took notice. The next night more geese passed and 
Bill became worried. "By cracky, I ought to be 
home," expressed his disappointment in being so 
unlucky as to be separated from his gun and hunt- 
ing grounds when the geese were flying. He almost 
wept. Come to think of it, it was a real hardship 
for him to miss this semi-annual chance for sport 
and meat for his family. Bill said one season he 
killed over one hundred in one day. This was before 
he was hoodooed. 

There were five widows with their children at 
Great Whale drawing rations from the Company. 
Bill put them in canoes and took them to Cape Jones 
to fish for him and form part of his colony there. 
He thought that a master stroke of business for his 
chief and something for himself. He meant well, 
but the Opposition does not appreciate that kind of 
business. 



Nero 159 

Bill is the best dog driver on the Bay, which is no 
mean honor. His great record was a trip from Moose 
to Great Whale in twelve days. It was while he was 
a servant of the Company and the figures are 
vouched for. 

He was so long a servant living in a house that it 
is very hard for him and his family to live in tents, 
and it is difficult to deal with him as a hunter. He 
has acquired tastes that demand supplies the other 
Eskimos do not get. For instance, Bill loves choco- 
late and yellow tobacco and uses a large quantity of 
each. The tobacco for the Indian and Husky trade 
is black and is furnished in strips about a foot long 
and half an inch thick, and resembles sticks of licor- 
ice. But Bill is a good talker in Eskimo and English 
and has much influence with his Husky friends, so 
that the factor gives him whatever he asks for, and 
finds his profits cut to the vanishing point. 

Bill's chief hope now, besides his salvation, is to 
get one silver fox a year. 

Nero 

Dr. Miln, the Hudson's Bay Company inspector, 
last summer gave Nero a fine watch as a token of 
esteem from the company. 

Nero is one of the happy individuals one meets 
rarely. Short, round-faced and smiling, he has never 
a care for the present and certainly no worry for the 
future. He is one of the Flemings, a brother of Bill, 
and of Harold's wife. He is about five years younger 
than Bill and lives at Great Whale, where he is a 
most valued servant of the Company, devoting his 
spare time and Sundays to missionary work under 



160 Winter on Hudson Bay 

the direction of Eev. W. G. Walton of Fort George. 
According to Rev. Walton, Nero has a wonderful 
way of expressing his thoughts in his own language. 
He is an excellent speaker and possesses marvelous 
spiritual insight. He has hard work wrestling with 
the King's English, but in Eskimo he is said to be 
very fluent. 

At the time of the epidemic of measles he lost 
several children. This was a great trial and put his 
faith to a severe test, as he could not understand why 
he should be punished in that way and why such 
trouble could come with the missionary present to 
prevent it. It took some time and a great deal of 
explaining to set matters right with his simple faith. 
He has one son left, a boy about eight years old. 
This boy is a correct small imitation of his sire, and 
it is a treat to see him hunting accompanied by other 
children yet too small to carry a gun. The boy also 
is expert with a kayak and with his playmates takes 
risks that would give a civilized mother hysterics. 

Nero is very daring in his kayak and has had 
several narrow escapes from drowning. It is a 
standing prediction at Great Whale that Nero will 
be drowned, as he fearlessly takes chances no other 
Eskimo would think of, and they are all daring 
fellows, too. It is a spectacular sight to see him out 
in his kayak in rough weather. He is so intent on 
hunting that wind and waves are apparently given 
no thought. 

The greatest episodes of Nero's career were a fight 
with a large porpoise and the seeing of a caribou 
migration. The caribou migration occurred when he 
was a boy with his first gun. For three days and 




NERO'S WIFE, GHEAT WHALE 



Nero 161 

nights the caribou went by with a noise "like thun- 
der." An older man took his gun to use and he had 
a good cry over it. So many caribou were killed by 
his father and other Eskimos that they were thirty 
days cleaning and disposing of the animals. 

While Harold was away at Fort George with the 
boat Nero kept shop in his stead and issued the 
weekly rations and otherwise looked after the busi- 
ness of the post. It was a daily pleasure to see him 
come to the factor's house, take off his hat and 
smilingly begin: "Esay, John's wife, 1-2 pound of 
tea; 1 1-2 pounds pork; 2 pounds flour. Me, 2 pounds 
flour. Amatuk, two plugs tobacco. Me, today, three 
wavies killed. Aha! One killed I get no. Fair 
wind, think so, tomorrow, boat come maybe, aha!" 

The past winter Nero has been located at Rich- 
mond Gulf with the large boat of the post and 
supplies for trading purposes. He killed some 400 
foxes, making one of the best hunts on record. The 
Minnie, our ill-fated boat, was to have been Nero's, 
but now he is promised a better one. He has 
achieved the success his brother Bill has been ambi- 
tious of. Bill is somewhat jealous, but Nero does 
not appear to notice it. A claim has been made that 
Christianity spoils the native Eskimo. Nero is an 
absolute proof to the contrary. If the missionaries 
can keep on developing Neros, no one will have the 
audacity to question the results of introducing the 
Christian religion among the Eskimos. Nero, of 
course, is only one, but it is as fair to judge from the 
best as the worst. 

We are glad to have known Nero, and in the years 
to come any thought of Hudson Bay will surely bring 



162 Winter on Hudson Bay 

him to mind with pleasant remembrances. If he 
meets the violent death predicted, which we hope he 
will not, he will meet the disaster smilingly. 

Notes Made During Our Stay at Whale River 

Eskimo women are excessive smokers. They 
invariably carry a filled pipe concealed somewhere 
about their clothing. Never once did we see them 
fill a pipe, yet one was always brought out filled and 
ready to smoke. This mystery we leave to future 
travelers to solve. These women use brass tacks, 
pieces of tin, and solder from tin cans to ingenuously 
make fancy fringe for their coats. The solder is 
molded in some way, and is the favorite material. It 
is amusing to see them discussing the pattern, style, 
and sewing of a coat, just as our own women do. 

Many Eskimo women derive their names from 
peculiar personal characteristics. For instance, 
"Big Nose" might be the name of a Husky belle. A 
great many of these names would be considered 
improper or obscene in civilized communities. The 
missionaries rename the natives when they are bap- 
tized, so the old local names are giving place to 
those familiar the world over. 

Nearly every guide we engaged carried with him 
a bottle of Perry Davis' Pain Killer. This medicine 
has great vogue on the Bay. It must have some 
effect or it would not be so generally used, but what 
the effect is no one pretends to know. At any rate, 
a guide without his pain killer has become a rarity. 
Possibly the fact that no intoxicating liquor is sold 
at the Hudson's Bay Company stores may explain 
its popularity. 



Labrador Notes 163 

The Indian is provident, smoking and drying fish 
and game for future use, but the Eskimo is not. 
This partly explains the numerous accounts of star- 
vation among the latter, of which the journals of 
the post are full. When asked why they do not lay 
up a supply of salmon or seal meat the reply is "we 
might die before we need it. ' ' If they could be taught 
to store food, the Husky population would soon be 
on the increase instead of decrease, as at present. 

The only fur that outsiders can trade for is musk- 
rat and ermine. These furs are usually the per- 
quisites of the women and children and they may do 
as they wish with them. Many hunters consider 
these animals unworthy of notice and do not even 
take them away from their traps. 

The amount of advance the Companies give a 
good hunter is sometimes astonishing. Five hun- 
dred dollars is not uncommon. One wonders how 
there can be any profit in these cases, and the fact is 
that often there is none, but such instances must be 
averaged with many others less favorable to the 
Indians. The Company is not primarily a chari- 
table institution. 

The Indians and Eskimos seemed always to be on 
the lookout for a joke or fun of some kind. In their 
tepees there was constant laughter which often 
aroused our curiosity, but upon inquiry we found 
only ordinary foolishness and good nature the cause 
of so much mirth. At one camp we showed some 
simple sleight of hand tricks and there was great 
merriment. If an Indian buys a 1-point blanket a 
smile always follows, as that means that a new baby 
is expected and baby clothes are needed. 



164 Winter on Hudson Bay 

We obtained a few specimens of Indian beadwork, 
among them a pair of garters and shot and cap 
pouches. The designs are typical and very pretty. 
The "inlanders" are the only ones that still do this 
beadwork. The "coasters" and Indians at the 
posts, if they do it at all, copy designs but do not 
originate them. Some of the shot pouches and belts 
are very elaborate, but these are scarce and a few 
years will see the last of them. 

The Indians near Eichmond Gulf and inland along 
the coast make a peculiarly shaped stone pipe. 
These are unusual and unique. As we succeeded in 
getting one for each of our party we felt fortunate, 
for they are both useful and ornamental. 

The way in which the native children amused 
themselves was entertaining. We noticed the five 
Indian children we had as passengers plajdng "old 
folks" at one camping place. They made up a camp 
of their own in the shelter of some rocks, the older 
girl keeping house, while the older boy took the part 
of hunter; then they made believe that visitors had 
come and shook hands all around, imitating the 
scenes familiar to them. At Great Whale it was 
amusing to see the Eskimo children with a small 
sled and puppy dogs harnessed up. They whipped 
the dogs occasionally just as they had seen their 
elders do, and strange to say the pups did not seem 
to mind. From morning to night these children 
were out playing in the snow and were pictures of 
health. An Eskimo doll with its fur dress and seal- 
skin boots is a neat imitation of its owner. 

Labrador has some of the best drinking water in 
the world and quantities of it. It is found in the 




HUSKY IGLOOS, GHEAT WHALK 




liILL S DOG TKAM AND SLKD, FOHT (iKOHGE 



Labrador Notes 165 

depressions of the rocks everywhere. If you want 
a drink, get down and drink your fill. You need 
not search for a place nor be afraid of germs. All 
water is good and clear and cold. It would be an 
insult to filter or boil it before using. If Labrador 
ever becomes a summer resort this feature will be a 
chief attraction. 

We appreciated the saying that "north of Cape 
Jones everything is good to eat" when we noticed 
how the Indians and Eskimos killed every kind of 
bird and animal. Gulls, hawks, owls, and loons are 
game birds there. Neither bird nor animal is safe 
within gunshot. The natives fire away recklessly 
if there is a possible chance of killing. The Eskimo 
way of cooking a bird is not wasteful. Head, feet, 
blood, and entrails are all cooked and eaten. 

At the posts during the summer a sealskin is 
blown up and used as a football, and the Indians 
have great sport at this popular game. 

The lucky trapper of a silver fox is given what his 
heart most desires. Often a new breech-loading 
rifle or shotgun is demanded, but it may be anything 
else that fancy dictates within the realm of possi- 
bilities. Tom Snowboy of Cape Jones wanted a 
phonograph and records and these were given him. 
Later his brother William trapped a silver fox and 
he insisted on a phonograph also. The amusing part 
is that these two brothers live in the same teepee, 
always have, and always will, and what possible use 
they can make of two phonographs no one knows. 

The Huskies tributary to Great Whale are not as 
numerous as usual, the majority having gone to the 
Belcher islands and other hunting grounds, for fear 



166 Winter on Hudson Bay 

of being killed by a native who has killed seven 
women and children and is at large. (Since our 
return we learn that this murderer died of starva- 
tion.) About ten years ago a Husky killed thirteen 
men and women near Eichmond Gulf and piled their 
bodies in a snow house. Mr. Chesterfield, then 
factor at Great Whale, went up there and by a ruse 
succeeded in killing him. From the old records of 
the post it appears that these insane desires to kill 
are not common, but are rather too frequent for com- 
fort. 

The past year another native has been making ter- 
rible threats and the Huskies are in great fear. 
There seems to be no alternative but to shoot per- 
sons of this kind, as one would a mad dog. There is 
a story in the Great Whale Journal about fifty years 
back of a shipwrecked crew of twelve or more men 
being killed by Eskimos. All efforts to apprehend 
the murderers were unsuccessful. 

We first saw Husky boots at Ruperts House, but 
did not appreciate their worth till we saw Jimmy, 
our East Main guide, with his. Jimmy took great 
care of his boots, carefully turning them inside out 
at every chance he got to dry them, thus keeping 
them in good condition. Their chief advantage over 
our own boots is that they are waterproof, so that 
while our feet were constantly wet, Jimmy was 
enjoying the solid comfort of warm dry feet. We 
resolved to supply ourselves at the first opportunity. 
At Great Whale we each bought a pair. How we 
did enjoy them! They filled a long-felt want and we 
were sure some of our troubles were over. There are 
some things to learn about these boots, however, as 



Labrador Notes 167 

we found later. We could get in and out of the canoe 
and walk around in the rain without wet feet, but 
when it came to walking a hundred miles in a rocky 
country we found that our feet were being badly 
bruised on the rocks. The boots were not protection 
enough. Bill said "you want lots of socks with 
those boots." We investigated and found that he 
was wearing a pair of sealskin slippers and two 
pairs of duffel socks inside his boots. When we 
returned to Great Whale our first order was for 
duffel socks and sealskin slippers. From then on we 
were more comfortable in our new style of footwear. 
We learned also from experience that these boots 
are very susceptible to heat and must be kept away 
from the fire or they will harden and crack. Also, 
it is wise to have two pairs of boots, so as always to 
have a change. 

The manufacture of Husky boots is carried on by 
the women constantly when there is material to 
work with. The seal skins are chewed by the women 
as they work, to render them more pliable, and often 
the children assist in this part of the work. At the 
home of John Meluktuk we often saw the process of 
manufacture, and sometimes a pair of our boots 
would be recognized by Nero or others as coming 
from a particular seal he had killed. They sell for 
from $2.50 to $4.00 a pair and are worth it easily, 
especially if you do not have a pair and are where 
they can not be obtained. 

Duffel, moleskin, and stroud cloth are the three 
staples for warm clothing in this country. We used 
them all and can vouch for their fitness over other 
materials offered for sale. The moleskin trousers are 



168 Winter on Hudson Bay 

particularly comfortable after being washed. Wash- 
ing softens the cloth and also seems to make them 
warmer. 

Every Saturday the traps were visited or the day 
was given over to hunting. The servants of the post 
came Friday evening and asked permission from the 
post manager to go. Under no circumstances would 
they hunt or visit the traps on Sunday. 

All wood is hauled to the post during the winter 
by dog team. The main task of the servants seemed 
to be gathering this wood. It is the only fuel obtain- 
able, and being soft pine, it takes many large piles 
to last through the year. "Jimmy" had to keep 
our house supplied and it was a constant task. 
Never, to our knowledge, was he over a day's supply 
ahead. It was against Eskimo tradition to provide 
for future needs and habit was too strong for him. 
Often the last stick was used before he could be 
induced to furnish more. The result was that he 
was out at times during severe cold and storms, 
when it might easily have been avoided. 

"Partridges" is the name applied to three varie- 
ties of birds, viz., the rock ptarmigan, the willow 
ptarmigan, and the wood partridge. These birds 
feed principally on the buds of willow shrubs. They 
form one of the principal food supplies of Labrador. 
At Christmas time flocks of a thousand birds were 
often seen and their tracks in the snow were seen 
everywhere. We could often hear them calling their 
peculiar call, like a goose with a bad cold. At times 
we shot them from the doorway as they came to feed 
along the river bank. 



Labrador Notes 169 

A characteristic name for this country would be 
Fox Land. Everything commercial or social centers 
around the fox. All conversations either begin or 
end with foxes. Foxes' tracks are of the greatest 
importance and they are pointed out on the beaches 
in the summer, and you can see them for yourself 
in the snow of winter. A native will distinguish the 
variety, whether white, cross, red, or silver, from the 
footprints. Whether the signs point to a good 
season or a bad one is the topic of conversation all 
summer, and all winter there is the heralding of the 
catching of silver foxes. Waking, they are talked || 

about, and sleeping they are the basis of most 
dreams. The seasons vary, but every sixth year is 
supposed to be a great hunt year. Following this will 
be a poor year, but each year following will improve 
to the sixth, and so the cycle continues. Three- 
fourths of the furs ordinarily obtained are fox skins, 
and in this country they are at their best for size 
and quality. Sir John Ross found them good food, 
but the natives do not agree with him and eat them 
only to avoid starvation. When the mice appear 
unusually fat it is considered a sign of a good year 
for foxes. The whole north country is a natural 
game preserve for foxes, and it is not likely that a 
supply will ever be wanting. We predict that many 
years from now the natives will still be absorbed in 
foxes and women of fashion still priding themselves 
on their beautiful fox furs. 

Whale River to Moose Factory by Dog Team 

The remarkably open winter on Hudson Bay made 
it very doubtful whether or not the Whale River 



170 Winter on Hudson Bay 

packet would be able to leave for Fort George at the 
usual time. Adams and I were anxious to start as 
early as possible, but it was not until December 20th 
that it was decided that the packet would start on 
Christmas day if the weather still continued favor- 
able. On December 24th there was a cold snap and 
the river froze over opposite the post. We decided 
to start the next morning, but as there was little ice 
along the coast a hard journey was inevitable, as 
we must travel a good deal on the shore along the 
rocks, which meant dragging the heavy sled up and 
down across the bare rock ridges. Christmas morn- 
ing was cold with a northwest wind. The leaving of 
the annual packet is a great event at the post, and 
everyone was out to see the start and to say goodbye. 
The party consisted of Maver, the factor, going to 
Fort George for a visit, Adams and myself, with 
John Meluktuk, Eskimo dog driver, and William 
Matthews, Indian guide. We had a twenty-foot sled, 
having a width of two feet. The runners were 
eighteen inches apart, which is a standard gauge on 
Hudson Bay. This is important as it makes the sled 
much easier to haul when following the trail made 
by another team. Our load weighed one thousand 
pounds, including six hundred pounds of seal blub- 
ber and oatmeal for dog food. The provision box 
was placed at the front end and the kettle for boil- 
ing dog food at the rear end. The load was wrapped 
in canvas and tied firmly with seal line. 

Our team was of eleven Eskimo dogs led by Chu- 
lumluk, a noble leader for nine years past. He was 
leader because it was his place by right. No other 
dog ever disputed it for a moment. He is an intelli- 




WILLIAM SNOWBOY, CAPE JONES 



Great Whale to Fort George 171 

gent animal and friendly to everyone. If there is a 
dog heaven, Chum will surely go there. 

The trip to Fort George is usually made in five 
days. "We expected to be longer, so took provisions 
for seven days. To avoid baking on the trip, currant 
biscuits were baked for us by Challa, to the amount 
of some three or four hundred. Maver calculated on 
an allowance of five each at a meal, which did not 
prove enough. 

John thought it best not to trust the new ice with 
our heavy load, so we crossed the river one-half a 
mile above the post. The day was a very hard one 
for us and the dogs. We climbed over the high rocks 
at South Point and night found us just west of 
South Point, hardly five miles from Great Whale. 
The days at this time of the year allow about five or 
six hours of travel from the earliest daylight to 
dark, including the stopping for a snack at noon, 
and this took some time as we had to melt snow for 
water for our tea. Our tent was rather small for 
three as the stove took much space. John and Wil- 
liam had a tent to themselves. Quoting from my 
diary: — 

Dec. 26. — Today we made thirteen miles, camping 
one mile east of Black Whale harbor. It was a day 
of killing hard work. We had to haul over the rocks 
all day. At one time we got out on the ice but were 
soon forced back on to the land. The ice was unsafe, 
the rear end of the sled breaking through more than 
once and finally open water cracks forced us to the 
shore. We were delayed for an hour and a half at 
one spot trying to haul the load up the steep side of 
a rock cliff. All day long it was push and heave the 



172 Winter on Hudson Bay 

sled up one side of a rock ridge and then let it slide 
with a rush down the other side, we four men hang- 
ing on to the sled, two on each side to brace it from 
going over. It required constant watchfulness to do 
this and at the same time keep our legs from being 
crushed between the sled and a corner of rock as we 
ran alongside on the down grade or heaved with our 
shoulders under the sled to get it to the top of the 
ridge. We have learned how to start the dogs by 
lifting the lines and shouting ''Ite." It requires 
strength to lift the lines of an eleven-dog team, and 
it becomes very exhausting work when continued 
steadily. 

During the day we passed the line of fox traps of 
the men and took out three white foxes. 

Maver says "Wait till we get to the Cape. There 
the going is always good and we will make up lost 
time." It is a cold task to untangle the dog lines. 
Very often it is necessary to stop for that purpose, 
and how John manages it without freezing his 
fingers is a problem. Occasionally the dogs fight, 
and John instantly applies a whip and the rest of us 
clubs. All the dogs jump on the one that is down. 
I notice John always puts on his mittens before 
going amongst them when fighting. He uses the 
whip unsparingly. I wonder at times he does not 
kill some of them. 

Dec. 27. — Calm and cold. We found a dead seal on 
the bank and John dug it up for dog food. The fox 
tracks near by were so numerous that for several 
rods around the snow was packed down. Just as we 
started on, a beautiful silver fox suddenly came over 
a hill toward us on his way to feed on the seal. 



Great Whale to Fort George 173 

Maver shot at it several times, but missed. It was 
aggravating the way that fox acted. He tantalized us 
by stopping several times to look us over, and kept 
in sight for a mile or more. How our fingers did itch 
to get hold of that five hundred dollar bunch of fur. 
We camped soon after meeting the silver fox, and 
the night being clear and moonlight, Maver and the 
guides went back to watch for foxes where the dead 
seal had lain. It was so cold they did not stay long. 
Another day of the same kind of hard sledding as 
yesterday. 

Dec. 28. — We awoke with the temperature -10°. 
We made less than ten miles during the day and 
were very tired. A cross fox came running toward us 
as we were crossing a bay on the coast ice. John shot 
twice at it on the run, but missed it. Our camp is 
three miles west of Sucker creek where Kenneth and 
I were forced to turn back last fall. Any sled but an 
Eskimo one would be broken to pieces if subjected 
to the hard knocks ours has received. The stout 
seal lines with which it is bound hold it firmly 
together. The projecting ends of the top boards 
are nearly all broken off by striking the sharp rocks. 
At night the dogs are tied separately, a few boughs 
being laid down for a bed. The harness is left on. 
All our water is obtained from melting snow dug 
from the bottom of a hard packed drift. A kettle 
of this snow produces almost an equal amount of 
water. 

Dec. 29. — Another hard day, though we made bet- 
ter progress, and came early to the line of fox traps 
of our old friend Bill. Later we passed some white 
owl traps, in one of which an owl was flapping, and 



174 Winter on Hudson Bay 

soon reached Bill's winter camp. Bill and his wife 
had left early in the morning with his dog team for a 
holiday visit to friends on the Cape. We snacked 
at his tent and his blind son played for us on the 
violin. From the feathers scattered about it was 
apparent that white owls are an important part of 
the winter's food supply. Bill has caught eight 
foxes and several seals to date. We camped about 
six miles beyond Bill's place. Maver says he has 
come this distance from Great Whale in one day on 
the coast ice in the spring of the year. 

Dec. 30. — Passed over White Bear hills following 
the track of Bill 's sled. Bill knows all the short cuts 
and the best road, as this section has been his hunt- 
ing ground for some years. We came to other sled 
tracks of Eskimos who have gone to Fort George for 
the holidays, and snacked on Cape Jones. John 
Meluktuk left us to try to locate an Eskimo camp 
and get some dog food and another team to accom- 
pany us to Fort George. Today was hazy and 
distances were impossible to judge. I found that an 
object apparently a mile away might be only a few 
rods, and vice versa. Our anticipation of better 
traveling on the Cape has not been realized. The 
snow is deeper and we have to walk and push almost 
constantly. The rest of us went on, and just before 
dark, came to the camp of Jim Crow. 

Nepacktuk and three sons of Snowboy came in 
from seal hunting just after dark on a dog sled. We 
arranged to go on to Snowboy 's camp for the night. 
We rode with the Snowboys some three miles to the 
camp. There we found a large tepee and twenty- 
two Indians at home. We shook hands all around 




FRENCH POST, FORT GFORGE 




BAKE OVEN, FORT GEORGE 



Great Whale to Fort George 175 

and were given a fine supply of bread and partridges 
and some sugar for our tea. For some reason I could 
not learn, one girl refused to shake hands and kept 
her back to us during our entire stay. 

Dec. 31. — John came in very early in the morning 
with another dog team and sled belonging to Ack- 
peruk. Neviaxis' adopted son came with them. 
We learn that Neviaxis was drowned late in the 
fall while hunting. Nepacktuk found his gun and 
mittens on the ice, and getting a long pole, hunted 
for the body all night, a seemingly hopeless task. 
He was successful, however, and got the body out. 
Securing more help, the body was dressed in a new 
suit of clothes and buried. 

Old Jim was camped near our old friend Nepack- 
tuk and received us graciously. Some tobacco and 
tea were given him and soon we all felt well 
acquainted. We snacked in his tent by the light of 
a seal oil lamp, and on our departure were given 
some fish of his catching. Special care was taken of 
those fish not only because we were out of meat, but 
because the old man so interested us. 

This Grand Old Man of the west Labrador Coast 
is a fine looking Eskimo, and in his prime was a very 
powerful man. The early journals of Little Whale 
and Great Whale posts mention him frequently. For 
a great many years he was a servant of the Hudson's 
Bay Company and retired when too old to longer 
hunt or voyage. He was always efficient, reliable, 
and good-natured. The Hudson's Bay officials and 
all who know or meet him have great respect for old 
Jim Crow. How old he is no one knows not even 
himself. Harold says positively he is over one hun- 



176 Winter on Hudson Bay 

dred years of age, and Rev. Walton, the missionary, 
does not deny it. Now that his active career is over 
he lives by fishing and the bounty of the Company. 

Our load and party are now divided and from here 
on my sled companions are Ackperuk, Neviaxis'son, 
and Tom Snowboy. The snow is deeper and the crust 
harder, but not hard enough to hold us, so the walk- 
ing is difficult. The feet of some of the dogs are 
sore, blood stains being left at every step. 

We camped at Natawhum's log house on the bank 
of Natawhum river. He is trying to adopt the habits 
of civilized life and has done fairly well. He has a 
large cook stove, and his living room was so over- 
heated and crowded that we had the marquee put up 
and slept there. John dug up some black earth and 
moulded it on the sled runners. It was cold work, 
and done by the light of a big fire. 

This is New Year's Eve, and we had hoped to be 
in Fort George for the festivities. We are still three 
days away. Wound up the old year with a frozen 
nose and a diary full of experiences. 

Jan. 1, 1910. — Very cold. The black earth was 
frozen firmly on the sled runners and John smoothed 
and iced it. It looks like iron. Travel was difficult 
today. We snacked at the Indian camp of Salt, his 
wife cooking us some partridges. This is the dirt- 
iest Indian camp I have yet seen. Salt is away at 
Fort George for a good time. He has a place in the 
Labrador edition of ''Who's Who" through being 
mauled severely by a black bear some years ago. 
Shortly after leaving here a drifter came up and we 
faced it to Fatboy's camp. How the dogs found the 
way was a marvel to me. I could not face the wind 





vjHP*'" . 




4 



Great Whale to Fort George 177 

at all nor did the Eskimos. The sharp hard snow 
blinded me whenever I tried it. 

At Fatboy's we found that Fatboy and the other 
men of the camp were away at Fort George, and five 
women and three children were at home. One girl 
spoke excellent English, asking me to be seated on a 
deerskin. Not another word of English was spoken 
during our stay, and I could not tell which one 
spoke. The tepee was of split logs covered with 
brush, large and very clean. The floor was of newly 
laid pine boughs and the fire made it cheerful. Fat- 
boy for years was a servant of Donald Gillies when 
he was a factor at Fort George, which accounts for 
the order in which we found his camp. The Eskimos 
came in to supper after grooming themselves care- 
fully. It was astonishing to see how neat they 
looked. We had delicious fish cooked for our sup- 
per. The Eskimos put up a marquee for their own 
use. 

Jan. 2. — The blizzard continued all night, and 
today is as fierce as ever, making it impossible to 
travel. I lay on a caribou skin watching the Indians 
keep house, and played with Sampson and Mary, the 
two older children. I gave them some prunes to eat 
and hope they will not harm them. I do not fear 
for Sampson, even if he swallowed the stones. On 
entering the teepee our first act is to carefully brush 
oif all snow, and a pile of boughs is placed beside 
the opening for that purpose. Wraps of all kinds are 
at once taken off and hung up to dry. Great pots of 
snow are kept melting on the fire to furnish water. 
The women keep them filled, carrying in the snow, 
usually in shawls. Each woman brings in firewood 

12 



178 Winter on Hudson Bay 

for her share of the fire. There is never display of 
temper, but all are uniformly good-natured and 
keen for a joke. Pots and plates are carefully washed, 
and often rubbed dry with a handful of feathers 
plucked from a partridge or owl. Each family has 
its own corner of the teepee, and when anything is 
required knows exactly where to locate it. Indian 
children, like other children, do not always close the 
door on entering the teepee. They are spoken to on 
such occasions in the tone of voice with which every 
one is familiar. 

The women baked us some very good bread. We 
in return presented them with rice and prunes, 
which are all we have left to cook. We still have 
tea, but no sugar. I shaved to pass away the time. 
This wonderful operation was of great interest to 
the Indian children. We promised to send back 
from Fort George tea, sugar and sweets to the 
amount of three beaver. 

Jan. 3. — Temperature -18°. Left Fatboy's at day- 
light. About ten miles from Fort George a cache 
was made of our tents, blankets and stoves. It was 
necessary to run a great deal to keep warm. At one 
o'clock we reached Fort George, all the Indians be- 
ing lined on the bank to welcome us, and all the dogs 
of the post came also to see their Whale River 
friends. Amidst a scene of great excitement of 
Indians, Eskimos, and dogs, this one hundred and 
eighty mile stage of our journey was at an end and 
everybody happy. 



Fort George 179 

Halt at Fort George 

From January 4th to 12th we remained at Fort 
George waiting for the packet to start to Moose 
Factory. We thoroughly enjoyed this visit; Mr. 
Griffith, the Hudson's Bay factor, Mr. Aldridge, 
Eevillon Freres' factor, and Rev. Walton, the mis- 
sionary and his wife, entertaining us continuously. 
The French post is located about 1 1-2 miles away 
and the trail was kept good by our frequent journeys 
back and forth. During our stay the temperature 
varied from -22° to 22°, but all was the same to us. 
Borrowed suits from the store enabled us to conform 
to the established custom of appearance of ''oocha- 
mows." The furs taken in to date were shown us, 
and a beautiful lot they were. The chief ones were 
a silver fox and a blue fox obtained by Mr. Griffith. 
They were exceptionally good skins. The French 
company have five silver foxes that are very pretty 
but not in the class of the one referred to. A number 
of Indians came in for the holidays and delayed 
their departure as long as they could. Shaouk, 
wife, family, and all possessions came in by dog team 
from Cape Jones on the 6th and Nepacktuk and 
family on the 12th. The factors do not like these 
winter visits of trappers. The poorer a hunter is 
the more likely is he to come in and loaf around the 
post. They offer any old excuse and linger as long 
as they are allowed. Every effort is made to hurry 
them back to their hunting grounds where they 
belong during the fur season. A team was made up 
and sent out to nearby trappers to collect their fur 



180 Winter on Hudson Bay 

so a preliminary report could be sent on by the 
packet. 

This is the only post on the bay where portions of 
the old stockade are still standing. This was neces- 
sary here until a few years ago. Up to a compara- 
tively late period (when Mrs. Walton's father was 
factor here) the Eskimos were not allowed to come 
nearer than Eskimo point, two miles north. There 
they camped and were allowed to come in on certain 
days by twos only. The Indians and Eskimos were 
at war for many years and many stories are told of 
those times. The Indians used to capture Eskimo 
children sometimes, and rear them, and there are 
some Indians now tributary to the post who are of 
mixed blood, being descendants of these captives. 

A resident of Fort George may be known by his 
constant use of the words "eyewash" and "kay- 
paw, ' ' meaning ' ' no good ' ' and ' ' of course. ' ' These 
words belong to Fort George, and a visitor finds him- 
self quickly adopting them. 

The team collecting fur from the south came in 
on Jan. 11th, bringing in a packet from Moose. It 
had been forwarded from East Main to an Indian 
camp and had been waiting there some time. A 
paper of Sept. 4th told of Cook's journey to the 
north pole. A letter from Nicolson of Kuperts 
House stated that Peary was also successful. This 
was our first news from the "outside" since leaving 
Missinaibi on July 1st. Mr. Nicolson also told us 
that he met Kenneth and Roberts in Hannah Bay on 
October 20th, so we concluded they must have 
reached Moose about October 24th to 25th. Rev. 



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Fort George to East Main 181 

Walton was positive that they could not go on from 
Moose before December 15th. 

Fort George to East Main 

Jan. 13. — We started today at daybreak for East 
Main, Fort George giving us a great send-off. We 
shook hands with about forty Indians and Eskimos. 

We now have two teams of eleven dogs each; the 
Whale river team with John, William, and Adams, 
and the Fort George team, with Teddy Loutitt, 
Alex Loutitt, and myself. We expect to reach East 
Main in four days. About noon we took up a cache 
of seal meat and left one of twine for nets and other 
supplies. Some sticks stuck up in the snow and 
pointing toward the cache marked the locations. 

The day was warm and salt rime formed on the 
snow. This makes the sleds pull hard, as it takes 
the icing off the black earth runners very quickly. 
We camped about twenty miles out, having a large 
tent for the six of us. 

Jan. 14. — Temperature -29°. A blizzard came 
during the night, making travel difficult; but as our 
tent was in an exposed place the guides thought it 
best to try to reach Smallboy's camp at Comb Hills. 
We succeeded after two and one-half hour's travel, 
facing the ' * drifter. ' ' We couldn 't see ahead, so had 
to trust to the dogs to pick the way. Every one of us 
was frost nipped on the forehead, nose, cheek or 
chin on this ride. We found five families in the 
Smallboy teepee, including Shaginess, Anavost and 
Nowtewhat. We nicknamed this place the "Rabbit- 
Skin Post" on account of the many rabbit-skin 
blankets and costumes in evidence. The children 



182 Winter on Hudson Bay 

looked very odd in their fancifully made rabbit-skin 
coats. There are eight children here at present and 
three more soon. One woman is quite ill. Her hus- 
band is very kind and attentive to her, quite the 
contrary to what one reads of Indian life and the 
treatment the women receive. Our guides restored 
the black earth on the sled runners today. 

Jan. 15. — Temperature -9°. Started from Small- 
boy's before daylight. The salt rime was very bad 
and our progress slow. We stopped at John Swal- 
low's teepee and got a seal for dog food. Found no 
one there. Swallow has a fine camp decorated with 
a fancy clock, which probably represents his idea of 
the value of a silver fox. He has a storehouse and a 
tall flag staff and probably a flag, but we did not 
succeed in finding it. We passed the Paint Hills and 
came to the winter camp of Itchanaya. 

Itchanaya is the Indian guide we picked up during 
our sail by moonlight on our way to Fort George 
during the summer. News of our arrival caused a 
commotion. The children ; ran in, calling out 
''Oochamow" and clothes were pulled down and 
put on hurriedly and fresh boughs brought in for the 
floor. Two young boys about eight years of age in 
new rabbit-skin capots with pointed hoods looked 
like frost imps. Here we found John Swallow and a 
wife that looked like a big fat seal, with a tongue 
that was a working model of perpetual motion 
mechanism. Twenty-five Indians were in this teepee, 
one-half being children. Itchanaya has a sort of 
cook stove. A cook stove in an Indian camp is an 
abominable monstrosity. There is a storehouse 
here that contains quantities of frozen, dried and 




INDIAN WOMAN, FORT GEOHGE 



Fort George to East Main 183 

smoked fish, ducks, geese, partridges and supplies 
from the post. There is also a large pile of wood cut 
for use and all around are evidences of an industri- 
ous and prosperous camp well prepared for a hard 
winter. 

The hunters came straggling home after our 
arrival and each as he came in handed his bag of 
game to his squaw, and she emptied it at once and 
disposed of its contents. After making his toilet, like 
any other man returning from work, he sat down to 
a snack, trying to eat while the young children 
insisted on receiving attention and climbing over 
and around him continuously, just as they do in 
well-ordered households the world over. Over 
thirty of us slept in the 25x25 teepee that night. 

Jan. 16. — Temperature 14°. Away before day- 
light, going barehanded and with ears exposed, 
which is very novel. The rime is bad and we travel 
slowly. We camped on a deep snowdrift about six 
miles from Hope Island. This is a most uncomfort- 
able camp, as we can not move around outside the 
tent, the snow being too deep. 

Whenever we stop for a ''snack" a small pot 
of snow is melted to furnish water to ice the black 
earth runners on our sleds. 

John actually talks to the dogs between snores. 
They seem to understand him. Occasionally he has 
to get up in the night to stop the howling of some 
dog, and the dog is invariably sorry for his disturb- 
ance. 

Jan. 17. — Temperature 20°. Warm and snowing. 
We camped after traveling about five miles, as the 
snow was so soft the dogs could hardly pull the sleds, 



184 Winter on Hudson Bay 

and the black earth runners threatened to dissolve. 
The Indians expect the wind to change and colder 
weather tonight. If not we may be here two or three 
days, as we can not go on under present weather 
conditions. Our tent is wet and leaking, from the 
melting snow. Chulumluk and another dog ate their 
harness last night, and got loose and filled up on seal 
meat. They are sick today and cannot pull a pound. 
Today oatmeal was fed to the dogs to save the seal 
meat, as from here on none can be obtained. We 
picked up a cache of fish today for dog food. We 
started with five days' rations for ourselves, so if we 
do not reach East Main to-morrow we will have very 
little to eat. We got our feet wet today, and have 
taken off our moccasins and put on Husky boots 
again. 

Stop at East Main Post 

Jan. 18, — Temperature -3°. Very late start on 
account of its being so cloudy and snowing. We ran 
across a large bay by compass, making a bad job of 
it, striking the shore many miles from where we 
expected, and snacked on the island where we 
camped for three days on our outward trip waiting 
for favorable winds. The storm increased in force 
during the afternoon, and when we arrived at East 
Main it was long after dark and blowing a ' ' drifter. ' ' 
It was fortunate we were able to get in. Mr. Job son 
was greatly surprised at our late arrival, as at that 
time of night in this country all respectable men are 
at home and in bed. A few minutes later, however, 
he was telling us of the white muskrat, white beaver, 
and black wenisk skins or animals he had seen dur- 



East Main 185 

ing some forty-five years' residence in the country, 
and there was never a suggestion of nature-faking in 
the tale. There was a late packet here ready to be for- 
warded to Fort George. It was opened and I received 
a letter from Kenneth stating that he and Eoberts 
reached Moose on October 25th and started for the 
track on the 26th. He hoped to reach New Post at 
least. Mr. Jobson is certain that they got out, as a 
packet came in that must have been brought by their 
guides. Last night the chimney burned out and for 
a while there was some excitement in the house. The 
fuel used at all posts on the Bay makes this a 
frequent occurrence and involves no little danger 
from fire. The journals of the posts frequently 
chronicle the fact that the chimneys were cleaned. 

Jan. 19.— Temperature -15°. Since we passed here 
George Jobson has married Anna Stephen, the 
daughter of our guide from Ruperts House and the 
prettiest Indian girl we have met on the Bay. They 
are living here with his father and mother. 

Called to see Mr. and Mrs. Bonard at the French 
Company quarters. Had a splendid visit with them 
and more than enjoyed Mrs. Bonard 's superior 
French cooking. 

George Jobson has the grippe, brought in by the 
packet. It is a strange fact that colds develop every 
time there is outside communication. Mrs. Bonard 
says every time she gets a letter from home her baby 
catches cold. 

Jan. 20.— Temperature -13°. The guides were 
afraid of a threatened drifter and we remain here 
another day. This enables them to have a dance. 
The Indian dialect changes at each post, but not so 



186 Winter on Hudson Bay 

the Eskimo. Today I read "Parry's Third Voyage," 
published in 1820. It contained an account of the 
Eskimos in the far north. I pronounced the Eskimo 
words given in the book to John Meluktuk and he at 
once recognized every one. This seems to prove that 
the Eskimos of the Bay and they are one people. It 
seems that George and Anna Stephen are only mar- 
ried Indian fashion, and are waiting for a parson to 
come and perform the marriage ceremony. 

East Main to Moose Factory 

Jan. 21. — This is my birthday. It is a little stormy, 
but we started just the same. The snow blew all 
day and we could not see far at any time. Travel 
was very slow. We made about eighteen miles. We 
found lots of "nipi" (water) on the ice caused by 
the high tides. Find our frying pans were left at 
East Main. This saves us some trouble as we will 
not cook so much without them. Tonight is a beau- 
tiful moonlight night as it has cleared up. The men 
saw a ' ' meteor ' ' early in the evening. They say ' ' a 
large ball of fire exploded." 

Jan. 22. — Temperature -21°. Much rime on our 
blankets this morning. We are now already a day 
behind last year's schedule from East Main to Moose. 
We tried to cross to Wood Island opposite Mt. Sher- 
rick, but the rough ice finally got so bad that we 
could make no headway through it and were forced 
to turn back and camp on the mainland. Teddy has 
la grippe. 

Jan. 23. — Temperature -1°. Strong west wind; 
a head wind for us if we go on. The bay here is 
twenty miles across and the guides thought it best 



East Main to Moose Factory 187 

to remain in camp until it cleared. Our camping 
place is a poor one and the tent is stiff as a board. 
The interior of our tent looks like a rummage sale. 
Coats, leggings, moccasins, boots, socks, mittens, 
etc., are hung on a line every night to dry. I sleep 
near the stove and while the fire is on it gets pretty 
hot. The men usually snack at midnight, and I have 
to uncover till the fire dies out again. William and 
I are feeling grippy. Teddy is better today. 

Jan. 24. — Temperature -6°. Started early and were 
compelled by the rough ice and deep snow to follow 
the coast toward Euperts House all forenoon before 
starting across Cabbage Willows Bay. We had 
trouble enough in the rough ice on our journey across 
and for a time feared we might be forced to spend a 
cold night on the bay. It was the hardest traveling 
we have yet experienced and the crossing took us till 
after dark. We now fear deep snow and rough ice 
all the way to Moose. Old Chulumluk is sick. 
Traveling by dog sled does not mean sitting on a 
comfortable sled, well wrapped up in furs, and 
cracking a whip over a team of dogs that are pulling 
you along at a race-horse gait. It means running 
alongside of a sled for miles, getting here and there 
a short lift where the way is smooth or the snow not 
too deep. It means lifting the heavy loaded sled 
over all obstacles, or helping the dogs pull in the 
deep drifts and up the steep hills. It is the most 
strenuous sort of work and at its maximum on the 
rough ice of the wide shallow bays. Here strength 
and patience are at a premium and marvelous is the 
man who has either left after a few miles over ice 
broken and piled promiscously. 



188 Winter on Hudson Bay 

Jan. 25. — Temperature -2°. Fine clear day. We 
took the inside route to Moose across Point Comfort 
and to our great surprise and joy rode five miles on 
smooth ice, a decided contrast to yesterday's trying 
work. The track of the Euperts House packet was 
then found. The guides decided the packet had 
passed two days ago and consisted of a team of ten 
dogs and three men on snowshoes. We traveled 
slowly today, riding most of the way, resting our- 
selves and making up for yesterday's hardship. We 
camped on Gull I^oint and hope to cross Hannah Bay 
tomorrow. However, we may have to go around. 
The dogs got their last ration of fish tonight. If out 
after tomorrow oatmeal must be fed them, a poor 
substitute for meat when they are working. The 
guides talk of feeding them the bag of fifty partridge 
we are carrying to Moose for the mess there. It is 
one month today since we left Great Whale river. 

Jan. 26. — Temperature -5°. A little snow in the 
early morning, but it cleared later and the day was 
beautiful. At noon we reached East Point where the 
trail strikes across Hannah Bay. The Bay is 
eighteen miles across with a few miles of rough ice 
in the middle caused by shoal water. We camped 
so as to have a full day for the crossing. Our men 
would not chance having to camp on the ice, as 
Gillies and Fatboy did once when they chopped up 
the provision box for fuel to boil the kettle. The 
Rupert team left this camp yesterday. An Indian 
has a fox trap baited with a rabbit near the camp. 
He is a Moose Indian, as the shape of his snowshoes 
shows. Chulumluk is very sick and probably on his 
last journey and we are afraid he will never see his 



East Main to Moose Factory 189 

old Whale River friends again. Our rations are 
short and everything has to be divided evenly. The 
bag of partridges was fed to the dogs. It seemed too 
bad after carrying it from Whale River to have to 
use it when so near Moose, but the men must keep 
the dogs in shape to carry them back home and 
dog food was surely needed. 

Jan. 27.— Temperature -16°. Started two hours 
before daylight by bright moonlight to cross Hannah 
Bay. At daylight a yell from John Meluktuk stopped 
us, and it developed that we were off our course and 
headed for open water indicated by a distant cloud. 
He now took the lead, as the Indians have great faith 
in an Eskimo's knowledge of ice. For several miles 
we were in very rough ice. It was piled up in great 
ridges and hillocks and appeared endless as far as 
we could see in every direction. It was tough work 
to get the team through. At noon we had a snack 
and boiled the kettle on the ice. It was late in the 
afternoon when we got to the west shore of the bay 
where the trail was followed to Nattabisha Point, 
wJiere we camped. There is a trail of four sleds now ; 
one a flat sled of some Indian hauling furs to Moose. 
Saw the comet tonight for the first time. 

The men with the Ruperts House team were com- 
pelled to wear snowshoes and walk constantly. 

Jan. 28. — Temperature -2°. Started on at day- 
light. Left the tent standing. Found good tide- 
water ice for some ten miles. As we neared Moose 
the snow became quite deep and our progress slower. 
One mile from Moose the teams were stopped, lines 
all tightened and the men made themselves as pre- 
sentable as possible for the grand entry into the 



190 Winter on Hudson Bay 

metropolis of Hudson Bay. They acted like country- 
men on their first visit to New York. We arrived at 
Moose at one o 'clock and our five hundred mile trip 
with dog sleds was over. It has been an interesting 
experience to travel in this novel way in the heart 
of winter. While we have had hard work and met 
with delays, there has been no accident and we all 
arrived here in good health, barring the attacks of 
la grippe. 

We met Mr. McNab, the new inspector for the 
Hudson Bay district, Mr. Mc Alpine, Mr. Camsell, 
Mr. Snape, Mr. Griffin, Miss Quartermain, Mr. 
McLeod, and others and received letters and papers 
from home. 

Later in the day I saw John Meluktuk standing 
spellbound watching four horses hauling four loads 
of wood. The horse is a new animal to him. He had 
never seen one before. Perhaps later he will see 
where the kukush (pork) comes from, as I believe 
there are hogs here. He will have many stories to 
tell his friends on his return to Whale river of the 
grand sights in the city of Moose. The Albany team 
arrived last night and the Euperts House team the 
day before. The dogs outnumber the other inhab- 
itants at present and their evening concerts are the 
Husky grand opera. The discord may not be 
pleasing, but the light of countless stars, the gleam 
of millions of frost crystals, and the exhilaration 
from the cold pure air furnish a setting grand and 
most inspiring. 



Moose Factory to New Post 191 

Moose Factory to Cochrane on Snowshoes 

On November 16th at G-reat Whale Post I tried 
snowshoeing for the first time, using the Labrador 
snowshoes. These are of a very wide and flat pat- 
tern, adapted for that section where the willows are 
thick and the timber scattered. I found it very awk- 
ward hard work and two miles of traveling took a 
long time and tired me out. Then began my worry 
about the trip out from Moose, which must be made 
on snowshoes. Only one pair of snowshoes could be 
secured at Great Whale and we had to use these turn 
about. Occasionally I borrowed a pair from 
^' Jimmy," an Eskimo, to practice with. Each trial 
was unsatisfactory and the two hundred and twenty- 
five mile trip necessary to get from the foot of James 
Bay to the railway seemed an impossibility. I felt 
that I ought to be able to make it if the others did, 
but I did not see how any one could make that long 
distance on snowshoes. 

At East Main, Mr. Job son, who was factor at New 
Post for twelve years, said that he had walked it 
many times, and considered it an easy trip. He 
named the distance as one hundred and eighty miles. 
This cheered me up, but on arrival at Moose, Mr. 
McNab, the new inspector, told of his journey in 
December, and my fear became greater than ever. 
We heard that the distance was two hundred and 
twenty-five miles, and that it was a very hard trip. 
Many stories of hardship and danger were told and 
vouched for by others who had made it. 

Mr. McAlpine, the storekeeper, in anticipation of 
our arrival, had provided two fine pairs of snow- 



192 Winter on Hudson Bay 

shoes for Adams and myself of the pattern used at 
Moose. They were beautifully made shoes, four and 
one-half feet long, twelve and one-half inches wide, 
pointed at both ends, the front curving upward some 
four inches. These were made by Jack Puggy, 
famous for this work in the Moose district, and are 
especially adapted for travel in the country to the 
south of Moose. I had no chance to try them out, 
and put them on for the first time when we started 
from Moose on the morning of February 1st. 

No white man has ever improved on the snowshoe. 
He has invented canoes that are better than those of 
birch bark or dugouts; boots that are superior to 
moccasins; tents that are better adapted for use than 
teepees; guns that beat bows and arrows, but the 
snowshoe is unique. It is the Indian biplane flying 
machine. The Indian who invented it did as much 
for his race as "Watts did for the white man. In the 
north country snowshoes are an absolute necessity 
in the winter season, as hunting and traveling are 
impossible without their aid. There is no gliding or 
sliding on snowshoes; it is a case of main strength 
and stick-to-itiveness. They require careful adjust- 
ment; too tight, too loose, foot too far forward or 
backward, and pains and blisters soon result. 

I did everything that was recommended to avoid 
"mal de rackett" and blisters. Duffel was worn next 
to the feet instead of knit socks, three pairs of duffel 
socks were put on to avoid blisters, and over all 
a pair of moccasins. The strings were arranged to 
form a * ' bridle, ' ' so that the weight of the snowshoe 
would be lifted by the whole foot instead of by the 
toes. I was cautioned to have the Indians change 



Moose Factory to New Post 193 

the fastenings at once if pain developed in the instep 
or foreleg. 

From Jan. 28 to Feb. 1 we remained at Moose 
and prepared for the trip to Cochrane. Our packs 
had to be rearranged to go on narrow toboggans and 
supplies were purchased, bread baked, and many 
little details attended to. A visit to the Indian school 
was thoroughly enjoyed and an Indian double wed- 
ding was unusually interesting. This ceremony had 
been delayed some time owing to the absence of a 
minister to officiate. 

Mr. McNab, who succeeds Dr. Miln as inspector 
of the district, was long a resident in the far North- 
west and greatly entertained us by his stories of the 
Great Slave, Peace, Athabasca, and McKenzie 
Eiver districts. 

On the morning of February 1st we bade goodbye 
to John Meluktuk and William Matthews of Great 
Whale, and Aleck and Teddy Loutitt of Fort George, 
they starting on their return trip home with the dog 
teams and packets, while we went in the opposite 
direction to the track on snowshoes. Mr. McNab, 
Camsell, McAlpine, McLeod, Griffin, and numerous 
others were out to see us safely started. Thanking 
all for their hospitality during our visit at the post 
we bade them goodbye and once more resumed our 
journey out of the wilds of the north country. 

Our party now consisted of Mr. Adams and myself 
with four Hudson's Bay servants — Tom Taylor, the 
leader, George Thomas, Harry Lawrence and Jim 
Loutitt. All but Harry had made the trip before, 
Loutitt having made it in December. The guides 
each hauled a flat toboggan about twelve feet long 

13 



194 Winter on Hudson Bay 

and a foot wide, each being assisted by a dog. Three 
dogs were hitched to a larger toboggan hauled by 
Taylor. This using of dogs was of great help and is 
a late innovation, being done for the first time the 
year previous. During the day we were joined by 
Sanders Sutherland, an Opposition Indian, who was 
carrying supplies to an Indian camp about seventy- 
five miles up the Abitibi river. 

The first day we made sixteen miles and camped 
on Burnt Point, about five miles from the junction 
of the Moose river with the Abitibi. It was an easy 
day's journey. 

We left before daylight next morning after a snack 
of a biscuit and a pan of tea. After about two 
hours' travel we stopped for breakfast on the bank 
of the Abitibi river, again at noon for dinner, and at 
three o 'clock to camp for the night at the ' ' boundary 
line, ' ' having made twenty-four miles, or forty miles 
from Moose. This was a hard day's journey. Adams' 
toes were badly blistered and my feet very tired. I 
felt greatly encouraged, as forty miles was a goodly 
proportion of the two hundred and twenty-five miles 
to Cochrane. We were confident of being able to go 
on another day, but doubtful of any further travel 
without rest. We stopped for camp each day at 
three o'clock, as it took nearly two hours for the 
guides to build the barricade and get firewood ,for 
the night. The barricade was made of the covering 
of the dog sleds; a large fire in front enabling us to 
keep very comfortable. George Thomas and Harry 
Lawrence took turns at cooking, their chief work 
being to chop off pieces of frozen moose meat in 
sizes suitable for cooking and eating. Biscuits were 



Moose Factory to New Post 195 

then placed in position for thawing out before the 
fire, but were invariably eaten before the process had 
progressed far. Tea is what made life cheerful and 
we drank large quantities, strong enough to paralyze 
a Chinaman. We slept warm every night under our 
caribou parchments and Hudson Bay or rabbit-skin 
blankets. The early evening was invariably spent 
listening to stories of life at Moose; of hunting or 
trapping experiences with Jack Hunter, Jack 
Puggy, the McLeods, Bismarck; or descriptions of 
voyages on the steamer to the other posts on the 
bay, our guides being employed on the boat; parties 
and social affairs were also discussed and the local 
belles, Alice Hunter, Jane Puggy, and others at 
Moose were frequently mentioned. This conversa- 
tion was just as enjoyable to us as to our guides. 
Many jokes were made at the expense of Sutherland 
of the French company, as our guides were Hudson's 
Bay Company men ; his trip, the food furnished, and 
the pay he received, constantly provided material for 
discussion. 

On February 4th the real struggle began. We 
learned what long and short "openings" were, refer- 
ring to the open stretches of the river, and where 
camps had been made on previous trips. Tom 
Taylor, the leader, wasted no time. He chose the 
places to boil the kettle and make camp, and started 
on without unnecessary delay. He started when he 
was ready and it was up to us to keep the pace. Once 
in a while the sled would pull hard and he would 
stop to scrape the bottom and clean away the rime, 
giving us a chance to rest, so rime has its good func- 
tion after all. An old trail that we were on became 



196 Winter on Hudson Bay 

covered with snow and was followed by feeling it 
with the feet. Many times it was lost and with more 
or less difficulty found again. Tom was expert at 
this and by practice we became quite proficient also. 
I now learned how to hypnotize myself so that time 
and distance were not appreciated. There is no use 
thinking or worrying; just plod along like an old 
plow horse and forget that you are alive. At night 
you may take stock if you care to. The expression 
of a man traveling on snowshoes is about as cheerful 
as that of a driver of a hearse. This is a contrast to 
an Eskimo dog driver, who is a picture of supreme 
content. 

The temperature on February 4th was -13°. At 
noon we boiled the kettle opposite Bear Bone Island. 
Soon after we reached the camp of Tom Pans, an 
Indian. Tom was at home, and we had a good visit, 
finally camping there for the night. Tom has made a 
* * good hunt ' ' and has five mink, one lynx, one fisher, 
eight foxes, five beaver, nine marten, and three otter. 
Moose are plentiful, he said, and he locates their 
yards and kills them as needed for food. There was 
a new rabbit-skin blanket airing here that was a 
treasure. Tom refused to part with it and would not 
consider any offer for it. A good rabbit-skin blanket 
is considered the most desirable thing a winter 
traveler in the north can possess. It is very light, 
warm, and expensive, as it takes one hundred or 
more rabbits to make one, and it is a hard tedious 
task. 

Sutherland returned from here alone. We did 
not envy him his trip. 



Moose Factory to New Post 197 

On February 5th we left Tom Pan's at daylight, 
the temperature being -22°. It stayed below zero all 
day. As we camped at night Harry called my atten- 
tion to his Husky dog as he intelligently bit off the 
willows that obstructed his way up the river bank 
and made a clear path for himself and toboggan. 
How we did enjoy this camp! Tom, as usual, fixed 
the barricade while George cut the brush for our 
beds and Harry and Jimmy gathered the firewood. 
It was a cold night and firewood was cut accordingly. 
I noted here particularly the difference between the 
Eskimo's and Indian's way of making a fire. The 
Eskimo lays down some boughs on the snow and 
builds on them so as to save fuel, while the Indian 
builds up a large pile and uses all the fuel he cares 
to. We could not dry our duffel socks or moccasins 
as it was too cold. Our camp this night was three 
miles north of Clay Falls. 

February 6th it was -35°, and remained far below 
zero all day. There was a lot of water on the ice and 
we got wet feet. We crossed Clay Falls and Otter 
portages. The Otter portage is three and one-half 
miles long and from it a beautiful view of the river 
is obtained, the hills being high and forming a mag- 
nificent canyon. We were bothered today with air- 
holes in the ice and had to proceed carefully. 

A portage on snowshoes is a combination that 
cannot be beaten. It is the royal flush of the north- 
ern traveling game. There are forty-five miles of 
portage on the route from Moose. Disaster, more or 
less serious, is often met. It may be a broken snow- 
shoe or a broken leg, a twig in the eye or a misplaced 
kidney from falling over an old stump. The moment 



198 Winter on Hudson Bay 

the treacherous river is left and one feels delighted 
at having solid ground under foot, he either falls or 
is thrown, and becomes conscious of new dangers. 
I can not account for most falls except by the pres- 
ence of woodland sprites who slyly entangle one's 
feet, as all falls were unexpected and without appar- 
ent cause. Do not tell any one who has crossed a 
portage that you fell down or hurt yourself. 
"Kapaw," as they say at Fort George — an experi- 
enced or intelligent man knows that already. I fell 
down and got up so often that I looked like a Moslem 
approaching the shrine of the Prophet at Mecca. No 
wonder the Indians of the north woods believe in 
conjuring and gather at Conjurer's House and other 
weird places to propitiate imaginary deities. They 
can not help it, and I am certain that if I were to 
remain in the silent north woods I would be a firm 
believer also. In traveling by canoes or dog sleds 
the tenderfoot can depend on the guides for assist- 
ance, but on snowshoes he must depend on his own 
exertions and such Divine aid as can be invoked 
secretly or openly. 

On this day Jimmy Loutitt showed us the place 
where he barely escaped drowning during his trip 
in December. He was the third in line following a 
trail on the ice when be broke through. His snow- 
shoes became wedged in such a way that he was 
saved from being drawn under the ice. After great 
difficulty he was rescued, which was no sooner done 
than the ice broke under the rescuers' feet. It was 
a narrow escape and made them much more careful 
later. The trail they were following at the time had 
apparently been made by inexperienced white men 



Moose Factory to New Post 199 

anxious to get out of the country by a short trail 
from point to point rather than a safe one. 

We camped only eight miles from New Post, which 
we could have reached by traveling late, but Tom 
thought it better not to take chances on the ice after 
dark. 

On February 7th at 11 o'clock we arrived at New 
Post, one hundred and twenty-five miles from Moose 
and one hundred miles from Cochrane. The tem- 
perature was -23°. We were welcomed by Mr. Bar- 
rett, the factor, and the remainder of that day and 
the next enjoyed his hospitality. Mr. Barrett com- 
plimented us by saying we were the only travelers 
in his experience who had arrived there looking fit, 
and said we were making a rapid trip. 

It was a comfort to get where we could rest for a 
day and dry out our clothes, as it had been impos- 
sible the past two days. Our blankets were covered 
with snow when we woke up this morning. 

New Post is a small post, having only ten hunters 
or thirty-three Indians all told tributary to it. Its 
abandonment has been considered, but its value as a 
half-way resting place is considerable and it is not 
likely that the officials who travel that way will ever 
consent to its being abandoned. Mr. Barrett we 
found very entertaining. The son of an English 
clergyman, educated in the law, he has spent some 
years in Ceylon and later in the regular service and 
Northwest Mounted Police. He reads Greek and 
Hebrew and is particularly interested in Egyptian 
research. He has a very fine collection of Indian 
stone relics and beadwork, that he has learned to 



200 Winter on Hudson Bay 

show with caution to American and other travelers.* 

The post was out of meat on our arrival and the 
hunters were away after moose. Mr. Barrett, how- 
ever, had a fresh brew of sugar beer which proved 
most excellent. 

Early on the morning of February 8th the French 
Company packet arrived, eight days out from 
Cochrane. We met Mr. Blau, of Albany, Mr. Halley, 
of Moose, and three Catholic missionaries who were 
on their way to a new field of labor. They were 
accompanied by five Indians with sleds heavily 
loaded. We were glad to meet this packet, as it 
meant that from here out we would have the 
advantage of their fresh trail, and they were glad to 
see us for the same reason. They had some two hun- 
dred pounds of fresh beef, and kindly shared with us. 
Mr. Barrett was overwhelmed with joy at the pros- 
pect of fresh beef to eat, as he had eaten none for two 
years. He said he had often dreamed by day and 
night of fresh beef, but later thought he must have 
forgotten the taste, as after trying in vain to eat 
some, he gave up, and said that hereafter he would 
stick to moose meat and dream no more. 

The French packet went their way during a light 
snow storm soon after dinner. 

The hunters of the post returned late in the after- 
noon with some fine cuts of moose, and reported 
having killed four. Charlotte, the Indian cook, 
came in and gave us the news. She showed great 
excitement; our visit, the arrival of the French 

* Mr. Barrett died in Montreal last May following a surgical 
operation. 



New Post to Cochrane 201 

packet, and the return of the hunters, all within a 
few hours, were events of unusual importance and 
too much for her childlike disposition. 

On February 9th temeprature was -20° as we left 
New Post at daylight. Mr. Barrett gave us plenty of 
moose meat to last the party to Cochrane. We 
crossed Long portage, fifteen miles in length, and 
camped five miles beyond. It became gradually 
colder during the day and at night we experienced 
our coldest night. We were in such good spirits, 
however, that we did not mind the cold, thinking of 
the short distance between us and the railroad track, 
and the good things we would order to eat at our 
first opportunity. All menus considered began with 
eggs. We had eaten canned, dried or salted imita- 
tions of everything but eggs. Eggs we wanted and 
eggs we were going to have first of all. We had to 
keep closely covered this night to avoid frost bite. 
The rime that formed on our blankets was very 
thick. 

February the 10th was our coldest day; it was 
-55°. The guides said it was the coldest they had 
ever experienced. Our usual hike before daylight 
until we stopped for breakfast was a cold one. The 
men, though hauling the sleds, had difificulty in 
keeping warm, and I froze my nose and chin in spite 
of constant care. 

We crossed Island portage, over eight miles, and 
camped on the north end of it, making over twenty- 
five miles for the day. We were half way to the rail- 
road track and going strong. 

February 11th was not so cold, being -26°. We 
started early and although it snowed, made good 



202 Winter on Hudson Bay 

progress, and leaving the Abitibi river camped two 
miles up the Frederick House river. 

February 12th was our fiftieth day from Great 
Whale Post. We arose at three A. M., and found our 
blankets white with rime. Continuing eight miles 
up the Frederick House river, we left it and stopped 
for breakfast at an Indian camp. A young girl had 
died here the day before and the men were making a 
coffin when we arrived. The mother asked us to 
send her from Cochrane some black cloth for mourn- 
ing purposes, which we did. This was a warm day 
for traveling on snowshoes, the temperature rising 
above zero. The trail led over a portage for fifteen 
miles. We reached the track six miles from 
Cochrane at four o'clock. The snow had spoiled the 
good trail left by the French packet, and with the 
heat and bright sun to contend with, the last few 
miles were hard work. Tom Taylor broke one of his 
snowshoes, but an extra pair bought at the Indian 
camp enabled him to continue the journey. 

At six o'clock we boarded a passenger train with 
our dogs and sleds and went on to Cochrane. For 
Harry Lawrence, especially, who had never before 
seen or ridden on a railroad train, this was a great 
treat. The others had once before taken the trip. 
The passengers were greatly interested in our equip- 
ment and Eskimo dogs and anxiously inquired if we 
had any moccasins to sell. At the Hudson's Bay 
Company's store we were kindly received by Mr. 
Woodward and our packs made ready for travel by 
train the next morning. Then we ate our supper, 
mainly eggs. 



New Post to Cochrane 203 

Our guides saw us off at eight o'clock Sunday 
morning, and lined up alongside the engine, to them 
a great curiosity. From the train newsboy I bought 
some oranges for them to eat. Oranges they had 
never seen or eaten before. For all I know after the 
train left they ate them rind and all, for I did not 
think to explain the proper method. 

With a feeling of regret and yet relief, we were 
once more in civilization and our long journey was 
soon over. The sensation of going many miles in a 
few hours without working seemed strange and diffi- 
cult to realize. Several times I found myself doubt- 
ing its truth. 

Without anything of further interest happening I 
reached Washington on the morning of February 
15th. There was no snow and the temperature was 
way above the freezing point. At that time at New 
Post the temperature was -39°, as I subsequently 
learned, and I was glad to be at home. 



AUG 2 1912 



